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

by Gary F. Vanucci

  The group had made it to the southern tip and continued north along its easternmost edge, crossing a ford in the Serpent Spine River as they did so. They were in between two bodies of water and Triniach believed this to be a good enough spot for them to make a stand.

  “Now we wait,” he addressed the others. They all began to prepare a camp, laying out bedrolls and trying to sleep in shifts as they prepared mentally. The waters of the lake were so calm and full of fish. Jon, Figit and Azbiel all managed to catch fish using varying methods and this was able to feed them very well for the day. None of them really spoke at all, even the halfling, who almost never kept quiet. Even he was somber, Triniach noted.

  And what did he expect after giving him the news that he thought the attacks would only get worse. As if on cue, a pair of drakes—larger than the others they’d seen—spotted them and dove toward the six of them.

  Azbiel and Morgrim began chanting spells and Triniach waited and watched. Jon, Figit and Twarda all removed their weapons and spread out, away from their campsite.

  As the drakes neared ever closer, Triniach noted that beams of light, or something that looked like that, were hitting the exposed belly of the drake. After a moment, he realized that there very well could be help out here in the wilderness.

  He spoke a word and stepped out of his body and into the ethereal plane, flying quickly to discover the source of the light beams. As he neared, he saw two forest elves with bows like none he’d ever seen before. They each fired magical shafts of light that just appeared from thin air onto their bow strings. And they made minor explosions upon impact, he noted.

  He flinched as the scorching drake, the target of their attacks, fell right through him as he covered up. As it hit the ground below him, he willed his ethereal self away and became one with his physical body again. Figit was tugging at his robe when his mind and body became one.

  “What happened to the other dragon?”

  “Sit tight, little one. I’ll explain in a moment—I’ve got this one,” Triniach said with a comforting smile. He levitated up into the air and as the second drake neared, he unleashed a storm of lightning upon the beast. Lighting flashed from his fingertips and the sky itself darkened from clouds rolling in and then flashed white under the tumult of lightning and electrical discharge. The scorching drake stopped in mid-flight, its red scales going to white under the intense bolts of forked lightning that sent it tumbling awkwardly to the ground below.

  It landed with a thud and did not move again, its wing broken and crumbled over its body.

  “More of them are coming. And soon. We need to prepare ourselves!” Triniach called down to them as he lowered himself to the ground.

  “What took the other drake out?” Azbiel asked.

  “I seen bolts of light comin’ from o’er there somewhere,” Twarda said, pointing in the direction where Triniach saw the elves.

  “Aye, they were magical bolts of light or arrows with auras of magical origins. There are two forest elves—a male and a female— both with magical bows,” Triniach explained. “I am going to approach them—“

  “No need, mage,” stated the male elf, stepping before them and petting the head of a shimmering wildcat. His hair was long and seemed a shade of green more so than brown and his eyes reflected the same color.

  “I am Sinadow and this is my daughter, Cyprus.” The female elf stepped forward and bowed low and then bent to her knees to whisper into the ear of a huge black lion that trotted up to her and sat on its haunches.

  “We’ve been tracking the drakes and trying to stop them before they get to the forests or to any civilizations of any kind. We have not been successful,” the elf stated with a stern look.

  “What have you seen?” Jon Veinslay interjected.

  “We have seen several areas ablaze and fear that there are more of the dragons waking. Something has stirred them from their slumber. And they mean to burn Wothlondia to ash in their wake.”

  “Yer bleedin’,” Morgrim said as he moved closer to inspect the man’s arm.

  “Aye, there was moment where Aimee here became aggressive during a training exercise,” answered Sinadow. Triniach watched as spectral cat faded into view from nowhere. Figit jumped back a step and then folded his arms over his chest in the hopes that no one noticed.

  “I can barely feel it now,” the elf added.

  “An’ that ain’t good neither,” Morgrim said, moving forward and casting a spell of healing upon the elf. Within a few heartbeats’ time, the flesh was completely restored.

  “Many thanks,” said the elf with a low bow.

  “Fraggin’ elves. Always formal and proper; even the wild ones,” Figit mumbled to himself, though it appeared the forest elf heard him as he gave him a thin smile, raising his eyebrow at the halfling and looking at him sideways.

  “Where were you headed?” Triniach asked, leaning on his staff and peering at the deceased carcass of the huge scaled dragon that still lay in a heap.

  “We were coming to see the village of Shalratha on the opposite side of the lake. We’d heard that it was in ruins and figured that if this were so, it would be a good place to set up a confrontation as it is both near the water, which they hate, and easily defensible without risk of losing more lives.”

  “Your people?” Jon asked, sheathing his bastard sword.

  “Aye. There were a dozen or more of us that were sent to see. We were sent by King Dorinthal of Amrel to scout the town. If the drakes are coming back as prophesized by our elders, we cannot stay in the forest to fight. We need to escape its boundaries and fight the drakes before they make it into our domain.”

  Twarda wrinkled her face at that information. Triniach saw and bent low, level with her ear. “They live in the Amrel Forest, dear.” She nodded and shrugged.

  “They will burn it down to the ground quickly,” the elf added, trying to dispel any confusion.

  “And your party is no longer with you, I take it?” asked Triniach, rubbing the seat from his chin. Sinadow shook his head and pursed his lips in anger. “Do you know if Legacia to the south stands?”

  “We avoided it,” Triniach said, watching the faces of the others. Legacia was a town of brutal barbarian tribes rumored to be cannibals, though it was merely rumor and not proven to be true as of yet. And today was not the day to expose that tale as true or false.

  “Yeah, better to leave them to their own thing,” Figit proclaimed with his hands on his hips.

  “There will probably be even more people coming to the Shimmering Lake for the same reasons,” Jon cautioned. “Let’s hope that they are…helpful.”

  “Have ye’ seen many of ‘em?” Twarda asked, still clutching her battle axe and shield tightly.

  “Drakes? Aye. Many indeed. We’ve killed dozens of them and they’ve killed more of us; our whole scouting party except for the two of us as a matter of fact. They’ve even been feeding on their own when they die I’ve noted.”

  “Frag. This gets better and better,” Figit said, shaking his head.

  “Well, let us go with you to Shalratha and confirm your suspicions. At least we can aid each other,” Triniach suggested. The elves nodded in unison and the group made the long trek around the outer edge of the massive lake and back around to the western side. As they approached the town, they saw that it was smoldering and lay in ruins.

  “Yer suspicions be true,” Morgrim declared as he waddled along. They walked on, the village and the details of the devastation becoming clearer with each step that brought them closer.

  Triniach surveyed the ruined village and saw crumbles homes, edifices, structures of all kinds. The town was backed up to a large mound of a hill that may give them a good vantage point soon enough. The hills behind was charred, too, though the top of the hill still maintained foliage and a few trees.

  Triniach wasn’t sure at first, but as the outskirts of the village came into view, he saw a figure or three in the distance moving out from behind one of the derelict s
tructures.

  “Who are they?” Azbiel asked, noticing them too. They appeared to be travelers similar to themselves, who stepped out to greet them.

  “Who goes?” asked a strong dwarven voice. Triniach noted a heavily armored dwarf with no markings upon his regalia to indicate his alliance. He held a greataxe that seemed too large for him to wield, let alone wield to deadly ends.

  “I am Triniach. A mage,” he clarified, moving closer to greet the group while the others came to a stop behind him. “We mean you no harm. We are here to make a stand against the coming swarm of drakes.” The dwarf said nothing at first and instead rubbed his beard.

  Beside him stood another dwarf, the symbol of the sun planted firmly on his hauberk and a huge two handed hammer clutched in his mighty fingers. Another dwarf, also bearing the same symbol of the sun-god on her garments stepped out from behind the two of them.

  “I be Barnabus,” stated the dwarf in a voice of gravel. “This be Beulah and the other one is Coles.”

  “It be a pleasure, dear,” Beulah stated with a smile to Triniach. Her mood seemed quite buoyant for both the situation and for being a dwarf, he mused, who were generally a grumpy lot in his experience.

  “It be my pleasure to meet yer acquaintance.”

  “Is anyone else alive?” Triniach asked, pointing with his staff toward the ruined area.

  “We ain’t seen anyone alive,” said the one named Coles, a paladin, Triniach surmised. He certainly did not appear to be a priest. And his nose had looked like it had been broken on more than one occasion.

  “Who be these folks?” Barnabus asked, gesturing toward the others who gathered around Triniach.

  “This is Twarda and Morgrim,” he began, leading with the names of the dwarves to hopefully lighten the uneasiness at meeting them all. “This here is Jon Veinslay, Azbiel and the little one is Figit. And those two over there with the wildcats are Sinadow and Cyprus.”

  Sinadow approached slowly and leaned in to speak with Triniach. “Cyprus is going home to inform the king of the devastation here.” He nodded his understanding and returned his attention to the huge dwarf with the even larger greataxe.

  “What is your plan of defense?”

  “There ain’t one, when it be right comin’ down to it. We be doin’ our best to fight ‘em off when they come. There be a ballista inside the village that’s still workin’. Lookin’ like someone been workin’ it afore.”

  “Can it be finished?” Triniach peered around and saw the thing; it was a giant representation of a crossbow with bolts the size of a large tree bough.

  “Aye. I been workin’ on it. But we be needin’ some smaller hands ta get at some parts.” Barnabus peered around and found Figit sharpening his dagger with a whetstone, not paying much attention to the interaction.

  “Well. I think we’ve got just the guy,” Azbiel said with a laugh, pushing Figit forward with the heel of his boot. Figit turned and furrowed his brow in mock anger.

  “Fine. Let’s take a look at the stupid thing,” he said resignedly, straightening his leather jerkin and replacing his dagger on his belt. The halfling and the dwarf moved off to do their work and all four of the other dwarves began to congregate, speaking of home and kin, comparing stories and the like.

  “We will need to recall all spells having to do with ice and snow, I think,” Triniach mentioned to Azbiel.

  “I’ve got it all up here, Trin,” Azbiel stated, pointing to his head. “But thanks for the mention.” The sorcerer made off toward the lake and removed a waterskin, draining it as he walked off toward where Sinadow was doing some ‘fishing’ with his bow and his ethereal cat.

  “He will be fine,” Jon advised him. “I trust him and I know you do too. He can play the part of the fool very well, but we both know that it is an act. He cares about all of us, despite how he acts.”

  “Wise words, Jon Veinslay. Let us hope that they are true.”

  “Have you found anyone alive at all…or anything of import at all for that matter?” Triniach asked the one named Beulah.

  “None alive, I’m afraid. But we be comin’ across some odd lookin’ things that are shaped like…eggs. And lots of ‘em.”

  “Hmmm…I’ll be wanting to take a look at those things if I can soon enough. Right now, I must rest and recover. You should do the same, my lady.”

  “I’m thinkin’ yer right there,” Beulah said as she wandered off within the remains of what looked to be a ruined temple and disappeared from sight.

  Figit stared heavily into the fire that crackled before him, a pot of boiling fish bits inside that some of them had brought back from the Shimmering Lake earlier. It smelled delicious he thought, rubbing his hands from the aching. Barnabus had set him to work maneuvering inside and out the mechanisms that fired the ballista.

  “I can ease yer pains, young halfling,” called a soft voice from behind him. He turned to see Beulah, the dwarf priestess, walking toward him. “Would ye like that?”

  “I’m a bit of a healer myself. Us halflings are known to have the ‘gift’, too.”

  “I be knowin’ this fer sure. But…why dontcha’ just pacify an elderly dwarf.”

  Figit nodded reluctantly and she sat down next to him, smiling and took his hands in hers. His fingers not only ached but were racked with multiple cuts and bruises from the days’ toils.

  He hands glowed as she spoke a prayer to The Shimmering One. He wasn’t sure how, but he felt a sense of peace, too, that he’d never felt with any other priest before. It was odd. He’d been healed by divine magic before on numerous occasions but had never felt this feeling before.

  “How be that now?”

  He looked down at his hands and saw nothing. The pain was gone and in its place was a feeling of…nothing.

  “Many thanks…?” he gestured to her and then flexed his fingers over and over again, shaking his head at the relief.

  “Beulah,” she said. “My name be Beulah.”

  “Beulah, right. Well, thanks.”

  “What is yer motivation, Figit?”

  “My motivation?” he echoed throwing his hands up in the air. “I met up with Triniach years ago and we formed a band of…well, heroes I guess, that travel around Wothlondia providing aid to the weak or those who can’t help themselves and to seek our own fortunes, so to speak.”

  She looked at him and nodded in approval.

  “And I’m kind of in it more for the coin, the recognition and the ladies,” he winked at her, “No matter the race.”

  “Well, I thank ye fer yer honesty, Figit. I be a servant o The Shimmering One and that be all.” She stood abruptly, moving off toward the lake silently.

  He stared into the fire and heard a voice from behind him.

  “Ya never know when to shut yer mouth, do ya, kid?” Azbiel said with a laugh.

  “I kinda’ do.”

  Nah, ya don’t. Here, have a swig.” The sorcerer sat next to him on the ground and handed him a wineskin. He took a draw and shook his head, a sour look on his face.

  “Frag! Where did ya get that horse piss?!”

  “I conjured it. Ya can’t always have the best when you conjure,” he said with a laugh.

  “I think ya’d rather go without! That stuff tastes like a monkey’s—“

  A roar interrupted the halfling as he was about to finish his thought.

  “What the frag?!” Figit stood up and saw the spectral wildcat, Sinadow’s companion.

  “He senses something coming,” the elf said, removing his bow and placing in both hands.

  The entire camp woke to the sound of the growl. Triniach was already awake. Or still awake, he couldn’t tell which.

  “Man the ballista,” the mage instructed him. He was about to protest and then realized it would do little good. He nodded and ran off.

  “Ye gonna’ be alright, halfling?” called a gruff voice. He recognized that it could only be Barnabus.

  “Well, maybe I could use a hand loading the first shaft?”<
br />
  “Let’s be gettin’ to it, then!” With that, the two of them rushed off to load the ballista.

  Triniach not so much as saw, but felt them coming. Scorching drakes, like all other dragons, radiated an aura of arcane origins that no other creature on Wothlondia was capable of matching.

  He cast a spell of light and launched it into the darkness of the night air. After a moment, the sky exploded with light revealing a canopy of scaled drakes littering the darkness. With that, several of them dove toward the source of the light. There were at least ten of them by his count that descended toward the ruined village.

  "Prepare yourselves!" Triniach yelled over the sound of beating wings and thunderous roars of the drakes.

  The mage immediately levitated into the sky and began to launch volleys of forked lightning, stopping two and then three of the drakes just as quickly, sending them splashing below into the cold waters of the Shimmering Lake. The surface of the still lake steamed and hissed in protest as the bodies of the drakes fell from the sky into the chill waters. Several more of the beasts flew low and began spewing their fiery breath, igniting anything it touched. Within a few moments, the ground was burning and the light from the flames illuminated the battlefield.

  Even the surface of the lake burned, looking like some twisted, preposterous dream to the mage. Arrows were flying into the air as Twarda, Jon, Barnabus, Coles and especially Sinadow, were firing them at will. Morgrim and Beulah both were firing beams of radiant light at the drakes if they passed too close to them.

  They were all spread out and laying prone, only sitting or getting to one knee to fire their weapons. That was when several more of the drakes swooped down to the ground, landing on the far bank near all but Barnabus, who remained near the ballista still, having helped Figit load a spear and ready the massive artillery weapon.

  Triniach looked back and saw that Figit had a missile loaded and decided to put it to use. He cast a spell of flight and took to the air clumsily, trying to recall the intricacies of flight once again. He did not use it often.