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

by Gary F. Vanucci

The goblinoid search party on the lower level had found something new with which to tease their half-ogre prisoner. It wasn’t enough that he was wrapped in chains and manacles, which hampered his movement so much that he could barely keep pace with them—yet they continued to harass him still.

  Three goblins and four orcs made up this particular search party. The group was performing the necessary explorations of this lower level of the caverns and was trying to alleviate their boredom since they felt most of the dangers were already uncovered.

  The orc leading the search party was named Forgulnak, a mighty orc that was close to ascending to overlord status. They had been searching for hours now and had not come across anything strange or threatening as of yet.

  Forgulnak stared at Orngoth with contempt. His mind wandered, recalling how they had found him in the barbarian-ogre tribe and had overwhelmed them through sheer force of numbers. They had lost many orcs that day as the powerful ogres had fought with the intensity of four-score giants. But, the force of hundreds of goblinoids was eventually too much for even the mighty ogres.

  Forgulnak remembered that fight and the carnage wrought by the barbarian-ogres and it made him angry.

  Following the fight, Grubb had decided to keep this half-breed as a prisoner. He was smaller than a true ogre, not as bloated, and displaying a more muscular, toned frame. His skin was not as yellowed or as blemished with warts, and he stood taller than Grubb, and with considerably more girth. Forgulnak knew that Grubb wanted to beat the creature into submission and make him his personal slave. He first had to break the half-ogre’s spirit and then his mind would follow. So far, he was executing that plan successfully.

  Grubb guessed that the creature was half-ogre and half-human. That was confirmed by the Shaman Tukk, whose intermingling with the spirit world confirmed that and led him to further facts about the half-breed as well, including discovering his name. The half-ogre had been born of a human mother, Celeste, who had apparently died while birthing him. Forgulnak had recalled the shaman boasting about compelling the spirit of his mother to answer questions before releasing her from his spell.

  Grubb instructed Shaman Tukk to find out more about the half-ogre’s past. Further conversation with the spirit world revealed that it was no long after the creature’s birth, that he had been cast out by his human kin, thrown away like so much trash during a trek through the Blackstone Mountains. He had been subsequently found by the Ironskulls, a tribe of ogre-barbarians that had made those same mountains their home. That is until the fatal mistake of relocating to the Dragon Fangs proved to be their undoing.

  Forgulnak shook his head, his thoughts now consumed by the strange and unsettling memories of the shaman’s rituals. The spirits and the afterlife unnerved him considerably.

  Wrapped in those thoughts, he did not notice the glowering look that the half-ogre shot his way.

  Orngoth, the half-ogre barbarian, stood defiantly, staring back into Forgulnak’s eyes, displaying an unmistakable contempt for the orc, as he watched him walk away. He wanted to be free and to smash the orcs one by one, until he could find the one responsible for his captivity. He looked down upon the heavy shackles fastened about his wrists and feet, trying to ignore the taunts and insults of the goblinoids as best he could. This was becoming a common routine for him.

  He instinctively flexed as he stood, his massive arms displaying many a tribal marking to indicate his achievements within his clan, as was the traditional barbarian ritual—even amid the ogres.

  Orngoth used large animal skins and hides to cover his scarred body, to keep him warm, and was also the material for the boots on his feet. He also had a few prized possessions which had been given to him by a friend of his mother’s, a pathfinder and sentinel of the forest named Lynnai. He recalled that special woman and how she had managed to find him just as the Ironskull ogres were raiding a merchant caravan and intercepted them.

  That was a fateful day that set Orngoth upon his path of discovering who he was…and more importantly—who he wasn’t.

  Lynnai was a ranger from Norgeld, which was Orngoth’s birthplace, and she was his mother’s dearest friend. She had known of Orngoth and discerned his general whereabouts through many inglorious deals, magical scrying and the like. She knew that Celeste, his mother, wanted to pass certain items along to her child. Lynnai had vowed to perform that task for her dearest friend and indeed did that day, many years ago.

  The first item was a pendant, which he never removed. Lynnai told him that it held magic within it to help him recover from injuries gradually and that he should never remove it. That held true as evidenced by the severe beatings he’d been given by the Ironskull ogres, which had bestowed many a scar upon his back, legs and torso, but never left any permanent damage.

  His second prized possession was a gem that could magically emit different intensities of light and shades of color. After years of owning it, Orngoth had learned how to control the effects. This particular gem meant a lot to him. It was now, however, in the possession of the orc commander, Grubb. He used it to manipulate Orngoth if he misbehaved, threatening to destroy it if he refused his bidding. To further ensure his continued cooperation, he had also taken the precaution of placing heavy shackles on him.

  The third precious item was his club, which he had carved himself long ago in a place that allowed him a peaceful moment. This same club was what the goblinoids now taunted him with.

  Forgulnak watched as one of his orc brethren took the massive club from the half-ogre’s back, showing it to him and teasing him, acting as if he were attacking another orc, and further mocking Orngoth. The size and weight of the club made the orc look foolish as he could barely swing it with both hands.

  This levity was lost on the half-ogre, who seemed extremely upset. He roared in a rage and swung a wild hand out in an attempt to grab it from the orc. After a few moments, the orcs eventually stopped, growing bored with the activity. They cackled and dropped the huge club onto the ground at the half-ogre’s feet.

  “Leave him,” Forgulnak ordered and they headed into the next room.

  They had just stumbled upon what looked to have been a recreational room of some type. There were pieces of bone and playing cards scattered on a table with deep carvings in the top and on the bench surfaces, where Forgulnak assumed they kept records of their wins or totals. There were several tables and chairs within the room as well as a cooking pot in an alcove that looked as if it hadn’t been used in a long time. It was covered in dust and cobwebs.

  The four orcs immediately sat and started provoking one another in an attempt to force a wager, including Forgulnak, who had a ravenous compulsion when it came to gambling. The goblins at first didn’t understand the point of the game and took to throwing some of the cards around the room.

  Orngoth stood in the corner, having retrieved his club from the ground and returned it to its place upon his broad back. He slumped to the floor with a resounding sigh.

  “Get back on yer feet, Beast!” yelled one of the guards, moving over to the half-ogre and smacking him on the back of the head. Orngoth’s ram-horned helmet went askew with the blow and his blue eyes flooded with anger, but he did not react. Perhaps he would someday soon get the chance to retaliate. He imagined squishing that orc’s head in his hands and that image made him grin.

  The orc noticed it and stood menacingly in front of the half-ogre in a taunting manner, daring Orngoth to hit him. Orngoth’s left lip curled up, revealing a yellowed fang, but again he forced himself to ignore the jeering and taunts of the orcs, biding his time until he could get his gem back.

  Then he would make the orcs pay.

  Orngoth stood and removed his animal-skin cloak. He stretched as best he could while he was chained, showing off his extremely tight muscles and scarred limbs. The chains strained to keep him confined, and a few links began to bend out of shape under the strain. He noticed the chain begin to give way and strained against it once more, with one eye on the orcs as the
y went about their games. The chain bent and reshaped itself to his will yet again. It would snap if he tried to do it even one more time, he figured, and so he stopped, biding his time until he could do just that.

  Orngoth replaced the cloak as it was chilly in these caves and the cloak warmed his body. He slumped back onto the ground and awaited the next order he would have to follow. His eyes shut for the moment and he slowly faded into the lucidity of a dream.

  Thaurion heard something again outside their prison door. He woke Alana and pointed, keeping his finger over her mouth to keep her from speaking.

  “There is something at the door,” he whispered. “I hear voices.”

  Alana slowly and quietly stood up and tiptoed to the door softly and listened.

  She heard the voices, too. Thaurion joined her. He noticed that there was a peephole in the door. Suddenly it slid open and a pair of black, ferocious eyes, like that of a rabid beast, stared back at him. He heard a snarl or a growl of some kind that certainly was not human.

  “I don’t think ye’ll be leavin’,” he heard a guttural voice say in the broken, ancient trade-speak known as Wothlondian. They understood the words as each family taught their children this common language used by their ancestors when trading various services or goods in the past. “So ye’ better get used to it in there. Some of ye still livin’, too…that’s good,” the voice continued.

  “Three of us yet live!” Alana answered in defiance before she even realized she had said anything. Thaurion looked wide-eyed at her and she was just as surprised she had answered so honestly.

  “Kelgarek and Grubb got plans for ye,” they heard again through the door, though from a distinctly different voice, still in the trade-speak, followed by some bestial snickers. “Try yer best to stay alive!”

  The cover slid back in place and Alana and Thaurion looked at one another, each with a concerned stare that mirrored each other’s.

  Hope seemed to be running out.

  Elec sat in the well-made, oaken chair, admiring its craftsmanship before finally standing. It had been a long day and he was thankful for the brief respite he had been given before the meeting with the rest of the proposed group.

  Garius and the High Council agreed that they would make for their destination by mid-day. Evidently all of the others were here and had stayed the night within the Hall in one of its many rooms reserved for out-of-town guests.

  Elec was up much earlier than anyone else and had not even heard the second bells toll yet, which was just after midnight. He realized he had some free time and wanted to work on possible alterations to some of his elixirs.

  He reached for a ring in his belt pouch and reflected momentarily, silently thanking his Uncle Faorath once more for this ancient gift. It glowed with a very bright light as if it were trying to penetrate the air, but was unable. Elec placed the ring on his finger and spoke an ancient elven phrase as the ring’s glow began to spread.

  Suddenly, a glittering portal opened in front of him and he stepped inside, into a portion of the ethereal plane that his uncle had somehow tied to the ring, making it his own. He stood within a luminescent space that slowly began to settle, eventually becoming tangible.

  Inside the space, he recognized the familiar shelves lining each wall. Upon the shelves were beakers and vials made of clear glass containing various colored liquids of all imaginable shades. More shelves contained various leaves and plant strains in various states of preservation. In the center of the space was a masterfully crafted alchemist’s table complete with burners and candles.

  Elec pulled from a second belt pouch the leaves from the plants he had discovered earlier around the Dragon Fang Mountains. He retrieved those, along with a few more stalks and petals that he’d collected for this particular recipe, and arranged them on the table in front of him. He lit the candles and began to grind the ingredients down. The bells tolled twice, unbeknownst to him, as he continued conducting tests.

  Chapter 12

  Garius strode into the council chamber after a good eve’s rest and took his place to the immediate left of Tiyarnon’s seat at the head of the table.

  “You are here already,” Tiyarnon greeted his former student, who nodded an affirmation, and then took his seat.

  “I have sent word for the women and Elec to meet us here immediately. The sun’s rays are shining bright and we need to set out onto the soon-to-be snowy path,” Garius said. “Have you arranged for our passage as we discussed?”

  “Aye,” nodded Tiyarnon. “Or should I say that Nimaira has arranged for you.” The man adjusted his robes and stroked his gray beard. He began thinking about what was to come with the talks they would have to endure with Queen Lynessa of Norgeld. He had hoped that Ganthorpe was making some headway with it after missing all of this.

  “What troubles you, old friend,” Garius asked, pulling the high priest from his concerns.

  “I did not sleep well,” replied Tiyarnon honestly. “Sadreth’s memory is haunting my dreams.” Tiyarnon yawned and tried to shake the feeling of guilt from his face, but his eyes betrayed him.

  “You cannot hide your troubles from me, old man,” said the Inquisitor. “I know you well—better than you know yourself, perhaps—and do not need divine help in reading your telling expressions. After all, was it not I who studied under you not so long ago?”

  Tiyarnon smiled and nodded. “Yes, you did and you learned very quickly. It is no wonder the Inquisition sought you out. Nor is it a surprise that you advanced through their ranks so quickly to become a highly-ranking authority, and a Faceless Knight of the Order,” Tiyarnon added with an admiring nod of his head.

  Garius smiled deeply, accepting the compliment. It was not something he did very often and Tiyarnon noted that the smile was refreshing to see on the man’s face, which was at best, sullen in nature.

  “That is not all that concerns you,” Garius stated bluntly.

  “I had a nightmare about the time that we faced the demon and that he…is not gone after all, as I was led to believe,” Tiyarnon revealed, bestowing a troubled look toward Garius.

  “Of that we cannot be sure. Understand that we will find the phylactery—and your apprentices,” Garius assured his friend. “And we will bring them all back here safely to you. The Shimmering One and all of the gods will no doubt guide me,” he finished confidently and with a certain strength and conviction to his words that reassured the high priest.

  Tiyarnon nodded his agreement, but couldn’t rid himself of the feeling of dread for his friend and what they hoped to accomplish on this mission. It was an assignment that seemed too much for such a small group, as he and his own companions had experienced firsthand.

  He hoped that they had made the right personnel choices. Only time will tell now, Tiyarnon thought.

  A knock sounded on Saeunn’s door. She had not slept much this night and was already awake and dressed.

  A half-elf male with long blonde hair and eyes of blue stood before her. He was dressed as an official of both the High Council and The Oakhaven Watch.

  “I am Aeldur, you may remember,” the half-elf said flatly. She turned on him, almost ignoring him completely at first. “I was the one who interviewed you….”

  He looked her over, regarding her thoroughly, but this time, he sensed a softer side of her, despite her attempts to hide that aspect with an uncaring demeanor. She was so naturally beautiful, he admitted, but in a different way than most others of the female persuasion. He could not quite single out the quality.

  “I recall,” Saeunn finally replied, continuing to gather her things.

  “I hope you are not angry with me,” Aeldur remarked, again drawing no response as she tied her sash in place to keep the hair out of her face.

  She did not react and so he prodded her a bit more.

  “How does so little protection serve you?” Aeldur enquired as he gestured toward the remains of her unkempt armor, trying to understand her choices.

  Saeunn, like
most barbarian women, held to the traditions of her tribe. She wore a chainmail top, although it looked like a partial one at best and offered minimal protection, especially in its current state. It hung around her neck from a loose collar. The woven chains hung loosely over her breasts and offered her protection for her upper torso, but left her midsection exposed.

  Her arms and hands were also bare, but were covered in tribal tattoos and a few pieces of strategically placed armbands—which provided her no obvious defense that he could see. Her lower half was sheltered by a loincloth made of mostly animal hides with intermingling leather straps dangling from its front and back, leaving her tight and heavily muscled legs exposed, too. She wore boots of leather that went up just past the middle of her shin.

  “I have chosen to wear the very same armor that I fought in the day that my people were killed,” Saeunn informed him, measuring his gaze and conveying with a cold stare that this was not a topic she wanted to discuss. “I understand that to you it is partially worn and broken, seeming to offer little or no protection,” she explained, handling the loosely hanging chain shirt as she spoke, “especially to those that are used to wearing heavier armor. But I choose to be free. I need to move swiftly in combat and I do not want to be encumbered by heavy armors. So, it suits me.”

  Aeldur nodded, not expecting to hear so thorough an answer. He was noticeably embarrassed for a moment, having not understood the emotional attachment that she had with the armor.

  “If you are ready then follow me,” he directed in an acquiescent manner. Then, realizing his behavior was still rude, he turned to her again as she strapped on her greatsword.

  “I hope you slept well,” he added with an honest smile.

  “I did not,” she finally answered him.

  She scooped up her pack, flung it over her shoulder and followed him, wide-eyed with anticipation.