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

by Gary F. Vanucci

  “Yes, you must do it tonight.” Cyrza echoed his thoughts. “You must rid yourself of the one burden that stands in the way of your rise to power!”

  “Yes…and she wants children!” Rogoth proclaimed with disdain to no one in particular. “How dare she ask such things of me when I am the one who knows what is best for us? I need to ascend to power,” he said aloud once more, drawing strange looks from his fellow worker on the platform beside him.

  Cyrza laughed from deep within the footlocker where the amulet rested and watched through Rogoth’s eyes. It was only a heartbeat after asking the question that the man who questioned him, a fellow miner with blonde hair and a scraggly beard whose name Rogoth didn’t know, plummeted to his death to the landing below. Rogoth smiled a cruel smile as he stared down to the broken body of the blonde miner. Then he strolled lazily over to the section that they were harvesting for ebonite and continued swinging his pick. His blows grew more furious with each swing and for much longer than he should have been capable. But, he continued despite the pain, each strike swung with vigor, cackling madly to himself as he continued through the day’s toils.

  Cyrza laughed as propelled the poor fool on.

  CHAPTER 9

  The palisades that made up the border around Chansuk drew nearer and finally a goblin cavalry came into view. It had been likely sent to greet and escort them into the village. Zabalas and his companions continued toward them hastily, however, passing them and ignoring the calls of the goblin riders until they reached the gate. The four ominous figures dismounted before the worg-riders could circle back and catch up to them.

  There were two dwarves—no, not dwarves. They were slagfell, Kogh realized, though one of them appeared to be hairless, looking the part of a mage with robes of garish hue. The other was a warrior, dressed in plated armor, his features escaping from beneath a steel helm. There was also what looked to be a succubus, whom Kogh had never seen in person before, nor did he ever mean to. He’d heard tales of the demons and preferred not to engage her if he could help it. The goblin king also briefly caught sight of an insubstantial presence among them and a pair of bright red orbs flashed briefly before disappearing.

  “Bow before Mighty Zabalas!” Kogh called in a shrill voice, cutting the hushed murmurs that followed into silence as the newcomers entered the village. Kogh bowed low, instructing the others—orcs and goblins alike—to follow suit.

  “Well met, Kogh,” greeted Zabalas from beneath his helm. “Where might I find Kelgarek?”

  “Ah, that one…he is—”

  “I am here,” stated the orc chieftain boldly, cutting the goblin short as he stepped from his own hut to show himself. Kogh was slightly surprised at that and it appeared as if Kelgarek wanted to show poise before his own troops. “Do come into my chambers so we may speak in confidence.”

  Zabalas said nothing, helm still resting upon his head in the heat of Sun’s Peak. The warlord strode across the ground toward the chieftain while his envoys followed closely behind.

  Kelgarek did not blink or show the slightest intimation of fear. There was almost a sign of disrespect or defiance behind his red eyes, Kogh noted. He spitefully had to respect that stance from the orc chieftain and believed it either very brave, or very foolish. Kelgarek had stated on many occasions that he would prefer to die on his feet with steel in hand, rather than as a coward begging for his life.

  You may get your chance today, Kogh thought gleefully.

  Zabalas spun on his companions and bid them to wait outside while he spoke with Kelgarek privately. They did as they were commanded while the throngs of orcs and goblins offered them food and drink. They spread the bounty on an open set of tables where the former villagers, the barbarians, would conduct banquets and feasts under a canopy of leathers and furs.

  The pair of slagfell ate voraciously while the succubus turned their offerings away, and instead, moved to stand before Kogh. He swallowed hard as an inexplicable and ample lust overcame his senses for a series of heartbeats. A vision of an appealing goblin female entered his mind’s eye for a brief instant that set him to yearning. He shook it off and suddenly felt a new respect for the demon’s powers as she had so easily imposed the feeling of lust upon him.

  “Do you hold any slaves here?” asked the succubus, running a hand along her curvy frame to accentuate it and licking her lips, a pair of fangs escaping them.

  “Aye,” said the goblin king humbly and gestured behind her. “That hut—many humans, an elf or two if I recall, and a few of our kin that needed some punishing. Can I ask why?”

  “You may not,” she said tersely. “My name is Phaera and you will come to remember my name… if you live long enough, goblin king,” she chided with a cruel smile set upon her red lips. Kogh watched as she disappeared within the tent and he followed her inside, dismissing his guards.

  “I won’t pretend to know your needs, but I will leave you to them,” Kogh said, tossing her a key. “Please see to it that the key is returned to me when you are done.”

  Phaera smiled at the goblin and nodded. As he turned to leave, he noticed a pair of horns protrude from beneath her white mane of hair. She disrobed, revealing a scantily clad figure along with copious amounts of pale flesh. He also observed a pair of wings sprout from her back and a tail from her backside. She turned and eyed him threateningly, her eyes flashing red. He immediately exited the hut. He truly did not want to see what was about to happen next.

  Kogh cautioned the guards to remain outside until she left of her own free will and then raced toward Kelgarek’s hut.

  Once he arrived, he placed himself within earshot of the conversation and overheard the exchange between Zabalas and the orc chieftain.

  “Am I to understand that Sadreth’s phylactery eludes us still?” Zabalas asked as he removed his helm.

  Kelgarek stood with an ograthi guard to either side of him. They averted their gaze from the man who spoke while Kelgarek met the scrutiny of the warlord’s dark eyes that radiated with palpable anger.

  “Aye, my lord. I make no excuses for this—my second in command was a mighty orc commander, who had never failed me in the past. I held him more than capable of handling this task,” Kelgarek stated matter-of-factly. He shifted, agitated at the fact that his orcs were dead and that he could do nothing right now but accept his fate, whatever that may be.

  “Yet…the thing is not in my hand!” barked Zabalas, moving closer to the orc chieftain. Kelgarek was on edge, wanting to grasp the shaft of his axe, but held firm instead. Zabalas did move threateningly, but instead of striking Kelgarek, his arms shot to either side of the orc chieftain, his gauntlets coming to rest around the throats of the heavily muscled creatures to either side of him. He lifted both of the massive ograthi from the ground with ease as they clutched at his arms in vain. The half-ogre, half-orc creatures were almost the size of the near-seven foot Kelgarek and Zabalas held them aloft as if they were children.

  Spit gurgled from their mouths and they both hung in mid-air jerking violently until Zabalas crushed their windpipes in unison, dropping their lifeless and mangled bodies to the floor.

  “You have more of these, I should hope,” he said grimly and allowing a sardonic smile to crack his visage. Kelgarek still stood motionless, willing to accept a similar fate should Zabalas deem it so.

  After a lengthy silence passed, he turned and walked away from Kelgarek instead, putting some distance between them.

  “I am disappointed in the details, Kelgarek,” Zabalas admonished. “However, I do believe that you are still the leader that was prophesized.” The orc chieftain tilted his head in confusion at that statement, then bowed low before the warlord and fell to one knee.

  “Your words move me to purpose. Your thoughts are my deeds,” Kelgarek said and even though he was on one knee, the massive orc’s head still stared directly into Zabalas’s chest.

  “Now…I have adjusted plans accordingly and I suggest that this be your one and only failure,” said
Zabalas as a warning to the orc chieftain that he would not accept another. “I shall be headed north to acquire some materials for my Wayfarer. My emissaries will be heading toward the Oakcrest Mountains to find and bring to me the missing artifact that your most reliable officers could not.”

  “What would you have me do then, my lord?”

  “You shall be taking a contingent east to the Dragon Fangs Mountains to visit with your kin, one Chieftain Narthrog, of the Dented Skull tribe,” Zabalas instructed.

  Kelgarek’s jaw visibly clenched multiple times in succession. Narthrog was always one of his most hated rivals. However, he merely nodded in agreement and brought his gaze up to meet the warlord’s own impassive stare.

  “I do not care how you persuade the peaceful tribe to join us, just do it by any means necessary. Once you have Narthrog and his horde under your control, you will return here to ‘retrain’ the orcs. I will allow you some time to transform them into soldiers once more. Any who are unwilling to fight for the cause will be sentenced to death,” Zabalas continued, pacing around Kelgarek who stood again.

  “Then, the town of Oreon will be next to be trampled underfoot by the Dark Legion,” Zabalas continued. “I will send word as to when this will take place. Until then, secure their forces and train them. You are to remove all doubt from their minds that you are, in fact, their leader, and that they will take up arms in the glory of our cause. Even Narthrog.”

  “Your will is my deed,” Kelgarek said, bowing low again. With that, Zabalas donned his massive helm and strode out of the tent. He did not notice the crouching form of King Kogh hidden in shadow beside the hut.

  Kogh watched as Zabalas strode back to where his enforcers stood waiting, including the demonic Phaera, who was now appearing as either a pale-skinned human or half-elf, Kogh could not tell which, sitting atop her horse. She tossed the key back to the goblin king and smiled at him, as he caught the item and placed it within a pouch on his belt. He listened intently as Zabalas spoke.

  “My work here is done,” Zabalas indicated, climbing atop his magnificently muscled black stallion as smoke poured from its nostrils. It also had the distinct smell of brimstone. “You four will travel to the Oakcrest Mountains to find and recover the phylactery. Do not return unless you hold the item in your possession,” he said commandingly from beneath his blackened helm. He paused and nodded to the slagfell in the robes and added, “I am off to acquire the necessary materials for you. I shall return soon enough.”

  With that, he strode off on the warhorse, whose hooves galloped above the ground, never making contact with the soil and grass below.

  Behind him, the others began to make their way north. Kogh then observed as Kelgarek made preparations for gathering the sizeable army to accomplish his task, which did not include Kogh or Barguth, but was comprised solely of orcs.

  As the horde gathered their gear, the sun faded into twilight. Kogh and Barguth both watched as the march toward the Dragons Fangs Mountains was underway.

  Garius gathered the group together inside the entrance of the cave mouth to get out of the rain, which intensified quickly into a heavy downpour. It seemed to have come without warning from what was a cloudless sky only moments ago.

  The five companions sat around a fire watching their dinner cook, a pair of ducks they’d caught earlier, all the while trying to stay warm around the fire. It was chilly, especially at the top of the hill where the wind picked up, as opposed to the valley below. But that did not matter to Garius at the moment for they had much to discuss.

  “So much for tracking the amulet in this storm,” Rose offered with a sarcastic tone and rubbing her hands together briskly over the fire.

  Garius nodded his agreement and knew that tracking the orc that attacked Elec would be next to impossible in this deluge. They would most likely have to begin to guess as to a starting point when the weather broke.

  “What did you find out?” Saeunn asked the Inquisitor, pulling Garius from his contemplation.

  “Right. Let me start by saying that I had visions of some outside source or perhaps influence from a magical source, even,” Garius began to explain. “I cannot completely rule out another,” he paused, searching for the right word, “presence, either.”

  “Demonic possession?” Rose asked skeptically.

  “Aye. I certainly do not blame the young novices for what they have done, for they did not act of their own free will. Of that I am certain. Tiyarnon had every right for concern in this matter and was correct in calling us in.”

  “The Inquisition?” Elec asked. Garius nodded.

  Saeunn and Orngoth both sat unflinching at the news, stuffing duck meat into their mouths, seemingly uncaring as to the details of the events.

  “The fact that they yet live is a blessing from The Shimmering One, for he must favor these acolytes a great deal to have allowed them to survive,” Garius continued.

  “So, what is the scenario then?” Elec asked.

  “The phylactery was taken from Thaurion. Forcibly. This happened before he entered that abandoned temple,” Garius explained. “This is the story the images tell me, although they were chaotic. I saw the face of the doppelganger, the one of which Thaurion spoke.” The group leaned in collectively, trying to hear the words of Garius over the driving rain that sounded loudly against the exterior of the grotto.

  “So he spoke the truth of the deviant creature’s presence?” Rose asked. “I was hoping that it was not true.”

  “Aye, it is truthful,” Garius nodded. “And I sense a demonic presence as well that is involved with the missing artifact. The creature or creatures did well to hide themselves from my divinations. I do know that whomever or whatever took the artifact from Thaurion and the acolytes must be very close in proximity to the Oakcrest Mountains. The images showed the landscape of Heartwood Valley, as well as mountainous terrain where the priests were assaulted. There were images of blackened stone within the visions, too.”

  “That is a start at least,” Rose said, as Orngoth fumbled with his magical gem. Light danced upon its surface and changed colors randomly. He had a half-eaten thigh of duck sitting on the floor beside him and paid it no heed, engrossed with the gem instead.

  “So, where do we begin our search?” Saeunn asked as she crouched to the floor, wiping the juices of the duck from her lips.

  “I would think that being near the Lake of Souls might give a certain advantage, no?” Elec asked.

  “But you said the half-orc was on the other side of the valley,” Rose interjected.

  “Aye, but it does not mean that the half-orc would not double back,” Saeunn countered bluntly. “And if there are mountains involved, perhaps it was not the Oakcrest, but the Blackstone Mountains there to the north,” she continued, indicating the southernmost face of the range. “A waterfall spills from the Blackstone Mountains there into the Lake of Souls.”

  “Aye,” Garius and Rose answered in unison. They looked at each other and she smiled at him and winked. Garius could not quell the palpable attraction he felt for this eccentric woman. He tried to push the feeling from his thoughts when, suddenly, he was interrupted.

  “You had visions of black stone,” Elec offered, suggesting that the Blackstone Mountains might be a good place to start. “I do not know what that vision meant for you, but it might be wise to begin searching there as soon as the rain slows.”

  Saeunn looked at the elf curiously.

  “So, that traversing the mountainous terrain will be less treacherous.” Saeunn merely shrugged and stared into the fire once again.

  “Couldn’t you make it stop?” Rose asked. “I seem to recall you having vast power when it comes to changing the weather.”

  “Aye, I could,” he admitted, thinking it to make sense. Garius directly began mouthing a prayer to The Watcher. After a lengthy verse and wait however, nothing happened.

  “Well?” Rose asked again.

  “I do not understand why, but it seems that I have been den
ied.”

  Rose looked quite disappointed at that and Garius had no logical explanation for her. Or for himself for that matter.

  “And?” Rose asked.

  “I cannot undo this weather pattern for one reason or another,” he offered, not hiding his own frustration at that and wondering if he had offended the god of the skies in some way. “We shall simply have to wait it out,” Garius added, standing and staring out into the driving rain for some time. “I must eat, rest, and make amends to the Gods of Order now.”

  Rose sneered at that, mumbled a curse under her breath and began gnawing on a piece of the cooked duck lying on her satchel. She tore at the meat, barely chewing it before she swallowed.

  The entire group continued eating in silence except for Elec, who disappeared into his magical lab.

  Garius was disappointed at Rose’s reaction and watched her from afar, as she devoured her portion and drained the remainder of the wine from her waterskin. He pushed the sensations he felt for her from his mind and focused on his prayers as the rain drove on through the night and into the dawn.

  Xorgram Eboneye wandered out of his quarters and peered down at where the body of the victim had landed upon the platform several levels below. It was at the bottom of the shaft that went right past his own lodgings and down onto the next level. It was a sixty pace drop or more, he mused, rubbing his beard.

  Xorgram wandered back into his room and sat at his desk, looking over plans and designs that Fuddle had given him for another shadowsteel device. Suddenly, penetrating the shadow of his doorway stood the familiar figure and accompanying cough of one Skilgo Firehammer, the head miner. As he entered the chambers of Xorgram Eboneye, he was meticulously and repeatedly dusting his sleeves and chest to remove any excess soot. Skilgo, Xorgram knew from years of being acquainted with him and his routines, was a bit obsessive about his own cleanliness, despite a rather chronic cough and his oddly chosen profession.