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

by Gary F. Vanucci

  A beam of frost emerged from his hands and then another, targeting rather huge drake as he closed on it and immediately changed course back toward the ruined village and the waiting Figit. He gained speed and peeked behind him to the see that the drake pursued him, and it was quickly gaining ground. He waved a hand to Figit and immediately realized the futility of hand signals at this distance, even with the fey blood of the halfling aiding his vision.

  As he neared the ground, his thoughts found purchase on another idea instead. He mouthed another spell and sent a mental message to the halfling—“Just fire the thing when it’s in your sights. You'll have to trust me on this." Then he closed the mental connection to Figit, not having the time to explain himself to him.

  He felt the heat of yet another fiery discharge from the pursuing drake. This time, his robe was set ablaze and his concentration waned. He lost control of his flight spell, no longer able to maintain it, as he saw the spear coming toward him at terrifying speed. He mouthed a spell that caused his physical form to become incorporeal and he plummeted to the lake below, his robes reduced to ash around him.

  As he hit the water, he turned corporeal and his staff was ripped from his hands by the force of the submersion.

  He sank far into the cold waters, turned around and swam toward the surface. The cool water was a relief on his singed skin. Almost a full minute passed as he swam toward the surface and his lungs were close to bursting. When he finally broke the shallow of the water, he gasped for breath.

  He emerged from the lake bed in the nude and retrieved his staff that was floating lightly at the lake’s edge. As soon as he was free of the water, he summoned a simple spell that replaced his robes with an exact replica of the one that had just been burnt to ashes. It was an imitation after all, and he was not happy that his extremely expensive robes were gone. The reproduction felt nothing like the exquisite masterpiece wrought of Veldennian silk. It saddened him greatly that he would perhaps never feel that silk against his frame ever again.

  Triniach levitated high into the sky once again. As he hovered in the air, he witnessed the carcass of the enormous drake and thanked the gods that he was no longer the target of its ire. The spear had pierced its eye and gone straight through its skull, protruding out the back.

  From the air, he was able to see across the battlefield to the far side of the ruins where four drakes currently squared off with the melee combatants. He could see Twarda whipping her axe head through the air, tearing scaled flesh from the body of one drake, its lifeblood spewing forth. It managed a deathblow that sent the dwarven woman flying backward through the air, but she managed to get her shield up to absorb the brunt of the impact. It was a devastating blow nonetheless. Morgrim immediately rushed to her aid.

  Jon, Cole and even the spectral cat of Sinadow, Aimee, were all engaged with one drake and faring well in their own ways. The two paladins had divine shields around themselves, their sword and hammer navigating the space to administer righteous punishment of their respective gods to their enemies. The cat was hitting and rending scaled flesh with its claws and then darting away before the drake could adjust. At one point Triniach thought the beast dead, caught beneath a heavy swipe of a claw, but saw it pass right through.

  Sinadow and Beulah were still focusing their fire skyward to keep other drakes at bay, though they were losing that battle slowly. Triniach began to move forward, still hovering in the air, to lend some aid just as he caught sight of Barnabus beneath him rumbling headlong at full speed toward the quarrel.

  "I'm puttin' me axe ta good use, mage! No more loadin' spears!"

  He could see that Figit was still manning the ballista, another spear loaded into its flight groove, and the mage smiled wide at the dwarf's enthusiasm and apparent bloodlust. He watched as the dwarf’s mighty greataxe went to immediate work, slashing up, down, left and right and everywhere in between.

  Barnabus reduced the drake that Aimee had been toying with to draconic ruin in less than a moment's time.

  Triniach surveyed the scene around him and saw that Morgrim was tending to Twarda’s injuries, though he was chasing after her in order to do so, casting prayers of healing upon her as she ran.

  Where is Azbiel? he thought.

  He peered about, moving ever higher and well above the ground, and willing his eyesight akin that of an owl's. That was when he noted that on the far side of the lake, barely perceptible to him in the distance, was his fellow sorcerer, Azbiel.

  Azbiel was hovering over the far end of the lake away from the others. His skyline was filled with nothing but fire and crimson scales. Drake after drake approached him, but did not attack.

  It's like they are herding me, thought Azbiel. Well, I'll have to do something about that!

  With that, the sorcerer conjured a bubble of protective force to frame him and summoned the natural might of a snowstorm. His eyes glazed over and he threw his arms out before him, whipping them about as clouds began to roll in from the skies above, heeding his call.

  A chilling wind began to gust from the north, and all around the temperature dipped dramatically. For as far as the eye could see, a heavy snow began to fall. The scorching drakes discharged their sweltering breath in disapproval, trying to burn the storm away. Azbiel concentrated through, continuing to bombard them with snow and ice, steam emanating from the hides of the beasts.

  Their wings became covered in snow and ice, their flight quickly beginning to wane under the relentless barrage of the bitter gale and the steady battery of ice. All of the drakes within his line of vision plummeted from the sky and into the lake below.

  He smiled at seeing the storm. That smile turned to fright quickly as, in the periphery of his vision, he saw that one drake managed to slip through. It slammed into him hard, his force bubble absorbing the brunt of the impact, yet still it sent him tumbling end over end within the sphere. He skimmed across the face of the lake, now intermittently frozen along its surface.

  All but the one drake was dead or dying under the flurry of cold conditions for as far as he could see, which under the circumstances, was not that far all. That last drake was spraying a steady stream of fiery breath upon his protective sphere and the sorcerer was sweltering beneath the intense heat, the concentration of maintaining the icy storm, as well as the strain of concentration required to maintain his protective sphere. He looked behind him to notice that he was at the edge of the ruined city now and was worried about his surroundings now too.

  That was when he saw the glint of a projectile heading toward the beast from somewhere behind him. The drake reared back as if to belch another round of flames at him, but a spear penetrated its chest just as it was about to spew forth another bout of fire.

  "Good timing on that shot," he mumbled as he dismissed the blizzard. He saw Figit in the distance and shot him a ‘thumbs up’ sign of approval. He was very tired, but forced himself through the weariness and hovered once more.

  Figit released the spear and watched with anticipation as it hit the target. And in an exceptionally vulnerable spot to boot! He had observed the drakes and their behavior patterns from afar, detailing their method and actions when they discharged their flaming breath. He noted particularly that they exposed their chest and neck. He'd watched and timed his shot to help Azbiel and hoped the sorcerer would not get in the way.

  He leaped down from the ballista and scanned the terrain for the others. He could see fighting in the distance and the movement of several drakes upon the outskirts of the ruins and beyond. He ran off to see if he could lend them aid.

  Triniach watched Azbiel off in the distance as he summoned a Sphere of Protection around himself and thought it a good idea, so he followed the example. He watched the swarm of drakes flying around him and then scanned the battlefield to see how the others were faring. That was when he felt a distinct chill in the air. It reached a degree that caused him to shiver and long for the warmth of a fire. Then the sky in the distance became filled with snow and ice.
He could not see through it at all to where Azbiel was and lost sight of him all together. And though the snow did not reach them, the chill was certainly lingering in the air.

  A bit reckless, he considered initially. But then he reflected on it again and under the circumstances agreed that it was not the worst move the sorcerer could have made at this juncture. He was surrounded by drakes and a spell of that kind figured to take them all out at once. Triniach descended to the surface and moved to aid the others.

  Twarda and Jon were working together to occupy one drake, moving back and forth to keep its attention on one and then the other.

  Coles was delivering a deathblow with his two handed maul to another. It was an opportunity provided him by the spectral cat of Sinadow's, who had it distracted. As the hammer landed upon its skull, the beast fell into the ruins and collapsed, its skull caved in.

  Beulah, Sinadow and Morgrim were working together also to fill the air with projectiles and spells to keep most of the other drakes airborne, not allowing them to land. It seemed to Triniach that the skies were becoming congested with the magnificent but deadly dragons.

  He watched as Barnabus sliced a leg clean off one of the drakes and the beast howled and spat fire, missing him as he ran beneath its front legs.

  The entire scene was pure chaos.

  Figit appeared just then below him and waved. Only one more drake remained alive on the ground, but there were plenty more waiting to take its place. He had to do something soon or they would be overwhelmed by the fire-born dragons.

  Triniach looked to Azbiel who was hovering in the distance again and an idea sprang to mind. He yelled down to the roguish halfling.

  "Make sure the priests protect you with their magic!"

  Figit stared up the mage and nodded his consent. He watched as Triniach floated off toward Azbiel's position and knew the mage had something lethal in mind.

  He raced over just in time to watch Twarda leap through the air to bury her axe head deep within the throat of a drake. It was a risky, yet devastating maneuver, but he expected nothing less from the heroine of the Stoneshell clan. Figit cringed at having seen it before nodding in admiration of her courage and willingness to dive headlong into harm’s way without a second thought. Her bravery was inspiring and he briefly considered his own inclinations in that regard. That contemplation was interrupted however, as another of the drakes managed to make it to the ground.

  The drake had somehow managed to maneuver through the aerial assault of the priests and the archer elf whose bow was borne of ancient magic. The sheer number of arrows it loosed and the fact that there was no need of arrows was a dead giveaway.

  The drake landed upon the soil with a thud that made the ground around them shake. Its claws crushed the dirt and foliage around it when it landed and its roar was deafening. It was the largest of the drakes he’d seen as of yet.

  As he approached the creature, it was even more frightening to behold. There was an unmistakably palpable level of fear that Figit could not shake the closer he got to the drake. It was then that he witnessed the many holes and scorch marks adorning its scales and realized that it simply ignored or shrugged off the assault.

  Beulah stood before the creature and Figit knew she was in the throes of a spell. As if in confirmation of his assessment, a column of bright flames erupted from above the drake, engulfing it in its conflagration. Figit’s fey-born eyes narrowed, attempting to see through it, to no avail. When the pillar of flames vanished, the drake remained, seemingly unscathed.

  It raised back its head and neck, making to exhale its fiery breath.

  Suddenly, Figit was on the move.

  He dove toward the dwarven priest as the flames spewed forth, knocking her to the ground and turning his back toward the flames. He felt the searing heat upon his back and legs. As he hit the ground and rolled away from her, he tore off his satchel and tossed its flaming remains to the ground.

  As he lay on his back, he watched Barnabus charge over him toward the beast. It was a devastating thing to watch as the battle hardened dwarf swung his mighty greataxe to deadly accomplishment.

  Within less than thirty seconds, the drake lay dead and bleeding from multiple wounds, the dwarf standing atop it, his steel armor dented, scraped and burned from the constant attacks of the drakes.

  Barnabus held his axe over his head with both hands, yelling something in the dwarven dialect, challenging the drakes to come down to face him.

  "Sorry 'bout that," Beulah said to him, returning his attention to her. He smiled and held back laughter at the absurdity of the whole thing.

  "S'ok," he said. "Nothing harmed 'cept my stuff there," he added, pointing to the scorched and burnt leather backpack. "An' it doesn’t look like I'll be needin' any of that anytime soon. I’ll tell ya’ what. If we make it out of this, you can buy me a new set of tools and provisions." She adjusted the gray-haired bun of a mane that sat still atop her head and looked at him with a wide smile.

  “It’d be me pleasure. I be hoopin’ I get that opportunity.” Figit smiled at her optimism and shook his head. “Well, I better be goin’ to aid the others."

  By then, another two drakes had made it to the ruined grounds and yet another landed far off in the distance, outside the remains of the village. Jon, Coles and Twarda moved off to attack the first one, leaving Barnabus to handle the other with the aid of Aimee, the cat.

  Figit moved to aid Barnabus, hoping to get in a few subtle slashes of his poisoned daggers without the drake even noticing. As he sped off, he saw a huge flash of light off in the distance where the third drake had landed, obviously drawn to something over there.

  When the flash cleared, there was a figure bathed in light, floating to the ground and the drake lay dead beneath it.

  The figure rushed toward them, covering the ground quicker than any he’d ever seen, and began smashing his fists and feet into the belly of the beast. He stood right next to where Figit stood, planting his own daggers into the scaled armor wherever he could find an opening. He looked queerly at this new player to the game, but thanked whatever gods there were that he came to their aid.

  Barnabus was obviously on the other side of the drake’s huge frame, continuing to release his own brand of carnage, and holding the drake’s attention.

  "Who the frag are you?!" Figit asked loudly, having to yell it over the echoes of battle.

  "I am Serifel, stranger. I am a monk of the Temple of the White Star. And I have come to support the people of Wothlondia in their fight against the dragon scourge. My people are all dead and I have a prophecy to fulfill."

  “I hope that prophecy includes us kicking some scorching drake a—“

  The rest of Figit’s question was lost beneath the thunderous cacophony of Serifel’s combination of punches and kicks. They were struck with such force, that the drake’s attention focused on the monk. It whipped its head about to face them and swung a clawed appendage at both Serifel and Figit, who simultaneously tumbled backward and out of harm’s way. The distraction provided by Serifel was a fatal mistake to the beast as it suddenly keeled over, another victim of the menacing double-bladed axe of Barnabus. He came into view from behind its carcass, his teeth flashing for just a second from beneath his dark beard, indicating to Figit that he’d just smiled.

  As they got to their feet, both he and the monk watched in helpless horror as the rugged dwarven paladin, Coles, on the far side of the ruins, was in the mouth of one of the drakes. He was jabbing the handle of his maul, punching and kicking, trying desperately to stave off the inevitable.

  Seconds later, the dwarf disappeared, swallowed by the enormous, terrifying drake. They’d just lost an ally.

  Figit’s heart sank at that realization.

  He turned to spot another of the dragons land directly in front of where the priest Morgrim was, obviously not comprehending the danger he was in, as his attention was on the creatures in the skyline.

  An eruption of flames ensued and when it cle
ared, Morgrim was no more.

  Just like that, two of them were gone and Figit’s heart sank a little more.

  Triniach joined Azbiel and floated next to the clearly exhausted sorcerer. The blizzard must have been taxing for him, he considered, knowing the drain that spells took on the body and mind, let alone one that required a level of concentration to maintain.

  "I say we turn the fury of a thunderstorm on these damned drakes!" he yelled.

  "Let's knock 'em dead,” Azbiel agreed through a forced smile and a nod.

  With that, the two of them summoned clouds of thunder over the battlefield as the drakes continued to accumulate under the night sky. Dawn was approaching, but with the crack of lightning now originating from the clouds and from the two mages, the night sky lit up as if the sun shone bright as day.

  Drake after drake fell until Triniach caught one coming out of the corner of his eye. He watched in horror as a torrent of flaming breath spat forth, catching Azbiel in its midst. He couldn’t tell if his Sphere of Protection was still surrounding him or not. The mage plummeted toward the lake far below encased within a raging inferno.

  Triniach turned his ire upon the drake and shot bolt after bolt into the creature. Lighting originated from both the clouds above and from his own body, pelting the drake with lightning as it screeched and made its way toward him. He absorbed another wave of fiery breath, continuing to bombard the drake with bolts of lightning. As the drake neared him, it slowed in midair until it, too, fell into the water.

  Figit stood with his mouth agape beside the monk, still attempting to comprehend what had just happened. He had no time to consider the true horror of the last moment as another two drakes landed in the wreckage of Shalratha.

  He was completely devastated by the fact that Coles was dead, swallowed whole by one of the drakes, and wondered about Morgrim, too. He stole a glance across the battlefield and witnessed a burst of light in the distance. Then he saw the little dwarf casting spells once more and that brought him a sense of relief.