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

by Gary F. Vanucci

  Tiyarnon's musings were interrupted by the arrival of a servant, standing within the shadows of the doorway.

  "My lords, my lady,” he began with a reverent bow. “We did not know you had returned; forgive us for our incompetence." He spoke humbly, averting his gaze from beneath his drab, hooded robe and bowing repeatedly.

  Rolin Hardbeard, never comfortable with being doted on, waved the groveling attendant's concerns away. “Stand up straight, ye durned fool! How many times must we be tellin’ ye that we be folk just the same as yerself? Just bring Nimaira some medicinal balms, for my beard’s sake!” he barked. “The priest here has exhausted his healin’ powers and we got nothin’ much left.”

  The servant retreated backwards through the door, still insisting on bowing the entire time.

  "And bring me some durned ale, too, while yer at it!" the dwarf shouted after him as the servant disappeared into the hallway and out of sight.

  "What do we do now?" Nimaira asked, addressing the topic at hand.

  Rolin shrugged, clearly resigned to the fact that they had given a superb effort in their task thus far, as he commented repeatedly on their journey home.

  "Get some rest, and try again on the morrow. What else can we be doin’?" he responded confidently, his pride obviously still at the forefront of his façade. The dwarf, despite his age and markedly weathered frame, was not one to surrender. Stubbornness was evident amongst all dwarves, and in this one doubly so, thought Tiyarnon, as he shook his head in respect for the brave warrior. They had all witnessed that courage firsthand hundreds of times throughout their careers.

  "I'm afraid it won't matter,” Nimaira admitted. “You were there Rolin! You know as well as I do that we do not have the resources or the resolve to succeed. Not in this! You know it as well as I!” She winced at both that realization and her smarting jaw.

  The thought of failure was etched on the face of his friend, Tiyarnon knew. Their failure would weigh especially heavy in the dwarf's heart. Never being comfortable with losing a battle or even an argument, and always willing to fight to the very end for his beliefs, Rolin started to protest. But all of his objections died before passing his lips. The high priest recalled the scene in his head and recognized that any further attempts would ultimately end in failure. And Rolin knew that Nimaira was right. Neither of them knew the answer, and both of them looked to him just then.

  Tiyarnon was wise and calculating beyond his years, despite his shorter lifespan compared to the others in the room. While not nearly as old in centuries as the dwarf or the half-elf, he was always looked to as their patriarch. Many others in Oakhaven shared this patriarchal notion of him. Tiyarnon had an intuitive way of scrutinizing a situation from multiple points of view, and making the proper decision based on what was best for everyone, even in times of grief. Because of that, his two closest friends were looking to him for a solution now, during what certainly was their darkest hour.

  Tiyarnon sighed as he ran his hands across the gray thinning strands atop his head, all that remained of a once thick head of hair, and further reminding him of his age. As he spun his chair away from them for a moment, he caught his reflection in the glass of the conference room window and saw the leathery skin and prominent gray beard encompassing his face. After a moment of silence, he sighed deeply and turned back to face his friends.

  Looking his companions in the eyes, Tiyarnon said in a steady and serious tone, “We must appeal for help to the Inquisition. And not only the Inquisition, but the Chapter of Holy Warriors that exists within the sacred walls of Safehold.”

  The half-elf woman’s eyes widened as a look of realization crept across her face. “Meaning?”

  “We must call upon The Order of The Faceless Knights," Tiyarnon remarked, drawing nods from his two closest friends. “I shall send word immediately.”

  Chapter 1

  Upon reaching the eastern edge of the mountain range, Elec Stormwhisper noticed the wisp of smoke rising from far below. A human or dwarf would never have been able to detect it, but his vision and senses were the product of elven lineage.

  Elec squinted, but could not make out any details. He reached into his belt pouch, removed a magical lens and held it to his right eye, allowing him to see in greater detail. Confirming what he had feared, he felt compelled to act, even though trepidation and uncertainty ran amok through his mind, countering the unmistakable rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins.

  “Down!” he ordered his steed in the high elven dialect and the beast dove quickly, heeding his command. As he closed in on the source of the smoke, he recognized the ruins of a caravan. He ordered the giant eagle down lower and saw what appeared to be shattered crates and other debris. There were also the all-too-evident splashes of crimson in the white snow below. Farther still he dove…and then he noticed them.

  Orcs!

  According to legend, orcs were born of the same bloodline as elves. Some ancient elven theories even suggested that in ages past, orcs were kin to the elves, perhaps distant cousins of some kind. That theory, Elec recalled, had never been substantiated.

  The goblinoids—both orcs and goblins as they were often referred—had never displayed such aggressive behavior in the past. At one point, they had actively traded with the other races. More recently, several orc tribes halted all communication and trade and were presumed to be evolving into a more self-sufficient society.

  The current rumor was that something had altered their once peaceful behavior and coerced them into acts of unusual violence. These particular orcs were no doubt preying on a traveling caravan that had dared traverse the Dragon Fang Mountains.

  It grows ever more dangerous to travel in Wothlondia as each day passes, Elec thought, now that the orcs and goblins add to the already numerous threats out here in the wild.

  Elec shook his head in disappointment at the current circumstances, removed the lens from his eye and replaced the item in his belt pouch. Just then, an arrow zipped by his ear, passing right through a portion of his raven-colored mane. Now that he neared their position, he could see that there were three of them.

  The age of peace with the orcs seems unmistakably lost, Elec lamented.

  “Evasive action, Adok!” he called to the giant eagle. The beast flew to and fro, climbing out of the way of the missiles as they flew harmlessly past. It seemed to Elec that the arrows were moving in slow motion compared to the speed of the giant eagle. He steered Adok back and away from the orcs as a plan formulated in his mind.

  Down he flew again, seeing more and more detail as the mountainside grew closer. He was approaching the rear flank of the orc’s position since he had flown up and over the top of the mountain and circled back behind them. The eagle continued on with a fluid grace, silently gliding on the open breeze, carrying them toward their targets.

  Closer they got…closer…until Elec was just about on top of them. He jumped from his mount and landed a heavy drop-kick squarely into one orc’s back. Elec landed lightly, rolling forward with his momentum, and then nimbly made it to his feet.

  He turned back to see the orc’s halberd fall from his grasp and witnessed the creature roll another ten paces until he too, came to a stop. Adok continued on his way, having snatched the two remaining orcs in his massive talons. Adok flew off swiftly, clutching the orcs tightly as they howled and attempted to free themselves from his strong grip. Within seconds, the great bird was soaring up toward the clouds, the barely audible sounds of the orcs diminishing as the distance between them and Elec grew.

  The elf watched the remaining orc come to a rest, not moving at first. Then the creature stirred. Elec quickly drew his ornate longsword from its housing. Its hilt gleamed brightly off the white snow.

  Daegnar Giruth was readily in his right hand. It felt better since he had practiced with it, but he was far from comfortable using it.

  It was a magnificently crafted sword, fashioned of ancient magic with runes about the blade. Its hilt was crafted so that Elec c
ould wield it with two hands, yet it was light enough that he could use it with one. It also possessed many unique powers, one of which was that it could drain a portion of physical strength from an enemy with every slash of its fine edge.

  “Careful,” Elec thought, after sliding in the snow with his first step. The snow-covered ground beneath him made the footing treacherous. He crouched and saw the rather large orc stand, shaking his head.

  “Ancient ancestors!” he declared quietly as he realized that his opponent had barely been hurt by his kick. He was shocked that the orc was getting up at all, let alone clearly able and willing to fight. Elec thought he might have broken the orc’s back when he struck him initially. But this was not the case. Elec drew a deep breath to steady himself. He moved Daegnar Giruth back under his cloak and waited for the orc to approach.

  The orc straightened to his full height, leveled a hateful glare at Elec, and then rushed straight at him. He scooped up his large halberd from where it had fallen as he charged toward Elec. The beast was at least as tall as three goblins piled one on top of another, and tightly muscled from what the elf could glimpse of its arms and upper torso.

  The orc gained speed as he closed the distance between himself and Elec. The elf carefully reached to a neat row of glass vials in a bandolier strapped across his chest. He removed one, quaffed the contents of the first, and then removed a second. He drained that one too, then a third and finally a fourth, all the while tossing the empty flasks away as fast as he could. He immediately felt the elixir’s effects as they coursed through his veins.

  Shifting his hand to the center of his sword’s hilt to balance it in one hand, he withdrew a second weapon. Wyrm’s Fang was its name. It was a dagger so sharp that he had once used it to cut into stone without so much as marring the blade.

  The orc bore down on him quickly and was only a few strides away now. Elec could see the drool spray from his sharp-toothed mouth as he uttered some foul orc-speak. Elec waited calmly with his weapons drawn, but had not yet revealed them from beneath his cloak. As the orc reached his position, Elec nimbly dove to the left to avoid the charge, all the while keeping his foot outstretched enough to trip the orc. The momentum of the beast’s charge took him headlong into the mountainside, smashing his helmet down around his eyes, and looking rather worse for wear.

  Within a heartbeat, Elec was back on his feet, spinning and plunging his sword into the back of the orc. He put all of his body weight into the strike. He pierced flesh, but the blade did not go all the way through. It stopped when it struck something hard beneath the flesh, most likely a rib, he considered. He cursed his luck, thinking the strike to have been well placed.

  His frustration nearly cost him.

  The orc howled in pain and swung a back-fist that would have taken off Elec’s head. Luckily, the combination of his sixth sense along with the temporary, enhanced state of reactionary speed and reflexes that his elixirs granted him saved him from that full impact. The blow merely grazed his face instead of crushing the bones beneath it as he was able to roll with it. He regained his footing and stood again quickly, shaking the sting of the impact from his mind. A sizable gash on his face was already starting to heal, thanks to one particular elixir coursing through him.

  He waited for the orc to stand again. He did so, straightening his helmet. The orc growled and blood seeped from the deep wound in his back. Yet, he did not seem to care or notice as he advanced again, more slowly this time. His blood stained the ground with each step.

  Elec whispered an ancient elven word under his breath and suddenly, he blinked out of sight and reappeared directly behind the orc. His yellow eyes grew wide as a blade tip protruded through the front of his chest cavity. The orc went limp and dropped to the ground, revealing the visibly relieved elf holding Daegnar Giruth in both hands, its edge covered in orc gore.

  Elec gave himself a silent congratulation as he acknowledged his victory. He mouthed a whispered thanks for the magic of the ring, one of many gifts that his uncle had given him over the years.

  “Adok?” he called aloud.

  As he surveyed the immediate area looking for his steed, he heard a loud and sickening crash in the distance, followed by another a heartbeat later. The sound was like that of a hundred bones breaking at once, he realized, and he cringed upon hearing it.

  Then a screech came from above. He peered skyward and observed Adok heading back toward him. He finally realized what had happened. Adok had carried the two limp and helpless orcs high into the sky and then apparently released them to plummet to their deaths. Elec sheathed his weapons and shuddered as he imagined that fatal drop.

  “Of course, I had to draw the biggest brute to fight, right?” he complained aloud to his giant eagle as he patted it on its head. Elec tried to shake the sickening sound of the orcs' deaths from his consciousness.

  He drew in his surroundings once more and recognized the remains of a camp. Whether it was the work of the orcs or the travelers, he was unsure, but the remains of the wagon, crates, barrels and other goods were scattered about. It looked to be mostly salted food and wines.

  “This will attract some unwanted guests, Adok. We should gather what we can and carry on. We have a mission to accomplish after all,” Elec announced plainly to the giant bird. He gathered all the food and supplies from the caravan that he could salvage, including a few gems and pieces of jewelry, and searched the bodies of the dead orcs, leaving the remains for the vultures.

  “I hope the townsfolk of Oakhaven are willing to barter,” he remarked lightheartedly to the eagle as they took to the sky once more.

  Saeunn entered the threshold of Oakhaven today a beaten woman. This was an unwelcome circumstance for the proud barbarian. She limped slightly, yet still bore the brunt of her mother’s weight upon her wide shoulders. Dried blood was evident on her bruised body and her armor was tattered.

  It had taken them weeks to get here, but her mother made it clear that this was her intended destination and nothing would deter them from it. And so, they had walked and ridden wagons as often as possible to arrive here. The Oakhaven Watch looked at her and her kin in a sad, sympathetic way that angered her.

  News had obviously spread around the region that the Chansuk tribe had been unceremoniously overrun by a large contingent of orcs and goblins, with whom a peaceful coexistence was shared until recently.

  The savage intensity with which the Chansuk tribe fought was legendary. Therefore the news of their defeat was surprising to the common folk of Wothlondia. According to rumors they’d heard on the road, the goblinoids had caught them unawares. That much was true.

  The people of Wothlondia referred to the Chansuk tribe, and any civilization like it, as barbarians. Most ignorant folk used the word in a derogatory sense, especially those who had never witnessed their culture firsthand.

  The Chansuk, however, honored the title—barbarian. It symbolized an independent and completely free people when compared to other cultures. Barbarians would rather face death than imprisonment and this was especially so with Saeunn.

  A greatsword with many notches along its edge was strapped to her back, a confirmation to all that she did not shy away from conflict. This demeanor was reinforced by her battle scars and proud posture. Numerous tattoos adorned her arms—all signs of glorious feats and achievements within the barbarian culture. Saeunn was seen by most as a capable combatant, but not this day.

  Her long blonde hair was tied back in a braided ponytail and a sash sat askew upon her forehead, trying in vain to keep the sweat from her eyes. The fabric hung unkempt, partially covering her large, green eyes that conveyed both disdain for her failures and concern for her mother.

  Today was the day they entered Oakhaven to start a new life, her mother had told her. A common laborer, however, was not a station in life that Saeunn would accept. This proposed future did not sit well with the beautiful and stubborn barbarian as she repeatedly denied help from the guards, not letting them assist either her
or her mother. She continued on her way, fueled by frustration and anger as members of the crowd aided her kin.

  She was a barbarian! She could fend for herself!

  Why couldn’t her father have just accepted this and let her fight on the field of battle as he had done!? Then she could have died a glorious death and been seated beside him in the Hall of The Champion. Saeunn scowled and snarled at the crowd to get back as her mother tried to calm her yet again.

  Eventually, fatigue set in and she allowed her mother to be taken from her grasp. she slumped to her knees and cried out in frustration. Then she felt her mother’s reassuring and comforting touch on her shoulder, which caused her to relax briefly.

  She listened as the guards around them called out for medical aid to any who might be able to provide it. That help came in the form of medicinal herbs and elixirs and prayers of healing from the priests and herbalists that surrounded them.

  Saeunn continued to hear many of the townsfolk whispering and eyeing both her and her kin. She repeatedly overheard them talking of the demise of the Chansuk tribe and that this score of women and children were the only survivors. That realization brought her a deep and profound pain as well.

  Trying to ignore the whispers from the crowd, they were eventually all escorted to the Remedial District, where priests could offer prayers of healing. They were also told that the Remedial District housed members of the Herbalists’ and Apothecaries’ Guild, who would be actively looking to extend their services, too.

  Soon after, Saeunn was given a place to rest in one of the many infirmaries that lined this area. She was tended to by an elderly woman. She introduced herself as an herbalist as she removed Saeunn’s sash and meager armor remains and helped to dress her in a thin, cotton gown. She then started tending to Saeunn’s wounds with herbal remedies.

  Saeunn’s tanned body was firm, but scarred in several places, especially on her shapely legs and strong arms. Most of those scars were old, but a few were fresh and needed tending. Saeunn thought the woman kind and she regarded her with respect as the herbalist continued her craft. It reminded her of her shamans. And Saeunn knew that she was only trying to help.