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

by Gary F. Vanucci

  Come on…closer…, Saeunn urged, crouched in front of the tree. The worg charged as if in response, and she stood her ground. The beast closed the gap between them very quickly and launched its full mass at her. She wedged her sword hilt into the base of the tree between two roots and angled the point up at the incoming worg, rolling her body out of the way and to the side of the tree trunk at the last second.

  The huge creature landed with a hideous crash directly upon the point of her sword, impaling itself. It continued along the blade’s edge, crashing against the trunk of the tree where she’d been only a heartbeat ago. The worg’s dying carcass bombarded her with blood spatter that were tiny, frozen drops as they collided with her flesh.

  After a few moments she shoved its dead carcass away with her boot. She removed her sash from her head, allowing her golden-blonde hair to cascade freely past her shoulders. She wrapped the bite-wound on her right arm with the sash and ran off toward the others.

  Elec stood, awaiting the inevitable charge of the fur-covered beast. Elec could not believe its size. He had heard of these creatures from elven lore and writings, but this was the first time he had seen a frost worg up close. It was the size of a horse!

  The beast growled and charged him, pulling his mind into focus. Elec rolled to his left into the open, jabbing up and cutting the outer left rib of the beast as it passed and then he repeated the maneuver again. Both times he used the sharp edge of Daegnar Giruth to cut the beast, magically draining its strength. All the while, he used the blade and hilt of Wyrm’s Fang in a defensive position to fend off stray swipes of the worg’s huge paw. He felt the intoxication of his potions as they ran hot through his veins.

  Elec was moving incredibly fast now as one of his elixirs had taken full effect. The creature launched itself through the air once more and Elec dove under it, timing his roll to land on his back as it passed over him. He was able to connect with three quick jabs as the beast passed over him now. The worg seemed hardly slowed at all, however. Elec’s heart thundered unnaturally loud in his ears and seemed as if it might burst through his chest.

  Elec took a deep breath to settle himself. Once more the beast attacked and Elec dodged to his right, slashing with his blade, which met with similar results—two more successful wounds were evident. Each time he struck the creature, the steel blinked in a dark, lavender light, so quickly that it was barely visible to the eye—non-elven eyes, perhaps, though he could see it clearly.

  Small, crimson drops of blood dribbled from the worg’s wounds. Though somehow, they bounced off the hard ground as if they were hail, Elec noted. Frozen blood?

  This time the beast slowly crept toward him and uttered a low, deep growl, closing the gap between them. The worg lunged again a few times, snapping its jaws and baring its fangs, all the while Elec was flashing the sharp edge of Daegnar Giruth out and scoring hit after hit, draining the strength from the creature and still using Wyrm’s Fang in a defensive posture.

  At one point during the flurry of bites, Elec threw his magical cloak out just in time to stop a bite that would have bitten into flesh. The enchanted garment hardened on impact then softened again as the worg’s canines released.

  The beast slowed more markedly and its breathing was labored. The sword’s magic was finally taking effect. It was slowing under the combination of blood loss and the draining of is vitality via the blade’s magic. It could no longer continue its furiously paced assault. Before it could do anything else, Elec spoke an ancient elven phrase and then blinked out of sight.

  He was suddenly on top of the wounded beast’s back. He thrust Daegnar Giruth through its flesh and used it to steady himself as the beast thrashed. Then, he repeatedly drove the tips of Wyrm’s Fang deep within the worg’s flesh.

  Elec noted that the sheer size of the creature was even more impressive as he lay atop it. Elec held his grip firmly as the worg continued trying to rid itself of his weight, yet he held on.

  The worg reared and howled, attempting in vain to remove its unwanted passenger. Elec, now using both weapons as handles, held on until eventually it stopped moving altogether. Elec collapsed, completely exhausted as it seemed the effects of his potions had finally worn off.

  Rose was in her element. This supernatural beast would have no chance against her as she took to the shadows. She moved forward with her prized daggers in hand, scraping them against one another to ensure the sharpness of their edges.

  The worg advanced slowly, growling at Rose. And then she was gone. She appeared at its left flank, scoring two hits, and then disappearing suddenly, reappearing some twenty paces behind the beast.

  “Over here,” Rose teased the frost worg. She was purposely drawing the beast away from the caravan. She did not want to have to walk the rest of the way if somehow the caravan was ravaged by one of these creatures!

  The worg dashed toward her position. She disappeared again; appearing once more on the beast’s left side and landing two successive thrusts. She felt the cold creeping into her limbs and shivered. But, the magic within the daggers more than compensated for her temporary condition, as they pressed her attacks more rapidly than any mortal should. The worg howled once more and was bleeding freely from the area where she had concentrated her attacks, twin daggers scoring deep wound after deep wound upon the worg’s flesh.

  Rose appeared thirty paces away and the worg charged toward her again. This time Rose waited until it was close, rolled under it and landed another series of vicious strikes before she came to her feet. She quickly stepped right into another shadow and away from the worg in the opposite direction. It turned and growled in apparent anger and frustration. Rose had stepped out of the shadows to its right flank and noticed that the wounded areas were gushing blood, leaving a trail of frozen gore upon the ground where they had been fighting.

  Again Rose waited, and again the beast attacked. Over and again, they played the game—Rose stepping into a shadow, attacking, disappearing into another shadow and emerging once again some distance away. Slower and slower the enormous worg came after her, its life force waning, until eventually it slumped to the partially frozen soil in a heap.

  The game had ended and Rose smiled in satisfaction as its victor.

  Garius stood firm, holding The Repentant in front of him with both hands around the handle, chanting a prayer to The Champion to grant him divine vitality to augment his physical prowess. Garius was an Inquisitor, and Inquisitors pledged their devotion to the entire pantheon of gods, using all of their gifts to aid them in their cause.

  The frost worg stalked in slowly, growling. Then it sprung toward him, knocking him solidly to the ground. The beast’s weight was substantial as it sat atop him now.

  It snapped its maw repeatedly at Garius’s face, trying to land a bite on his flesh somewhere, but it was impossible. The helm covered almost every inch of flesh, except for slits where his eyes were and a very thin vertical slit in the center, allowing a gap for his nose and mouth. The openings on the helm were too small for the worg to get into, so it tried furiously to dislodge the helmet instead.

  Again the frost worg snapped at his face. Garius fended the beast off with the handle of The Repentant, attempting to extricate himself from beneath the worg, but it was fast becoming impossible. Even with the divine strength granted him by The Champion, Garius could not remove the creature’s massive frame from atop him.

  The worg then swatted his helm with its right paw, leaning a bit to the left, giving Garius the advantage he desperately needed. He rolled that way, freeing himself as the worg rolled off him.

  The beast quickly regained its footing and charged before Garius could right himself. Instinctively, he uttered a prayer, accessing the degenerative plane, which he disliked, but needed just the same, in order to pay respect to The Reaper—the god of death. This was one of the many responsibilities bestowed on him by the Inquisition the day he accepted their oath to serve. All of the gods must be paid homage in order to become an Inquisitor
, he was often told. And so he did.

  The beast neared him and Garius sent necromantic energy out in the form of a concussive blast, slamming the worg hard in the head and stunning it momentarily, long enough for him to regain his footing. He now stood on an area that was very slick with snow.

  He recovered and awaited the beast’s charge, achieving a stable foundation and feeling the energy he had stolen from the worg as it transformed within him.

  The power granted him by the necromantic energy was seen in a dim afterglow around his hands, changing slowly from dark to light. He refocused the life force he absorbed and infused The Repentant with holy energy, yet another ability gifted him by the Inquisition.

  The worg leaped at him, but Garius was ready. The Repentant connected with tremendous, bone-breaking force that sent the beast flying away to land heavily in a patch of snow.

  Miraculously, the worg rose again, favoring its front left leg. But, instead of fleeing as an injured wolf might, the worg stalked in on Garius, its eyes possessed of an evil so pure that it conveyed a palpable hatred for him. Suddenly Garius could see Saeunn running toward them with her sword poised for an attack. She had lost her woolen right sleeve and her sash was tied around that same bare arm, stemming the blood flow from a wound as the fabric was stained crimson.

  The worg attempted to move forward, endeavoring to disregard it’s obvious injuries, but it had been severely stunned and hobbled from that last blow. The woman bore down on the worg as Garius slowly circled to its left, forcing it to focus on him as it had not yet registered the incoming barbarian woman, whose blonde hair whipped side to side with each stride.

  The worg looked toward Garius and began an awkward run on its three good legs and vaulted toward him again. It was truly remarkable that the creature was still alive, let alone attacking, Garius admitted. He was able to move out of the way quite easily and swung an overhead assault, striking downward, but the beast somehow dodged the blow. It connected with a huge paw to his chest, knocking Garius prone once more. It quickly maneuvered atop him, pinning him beneath its bulk one more time, but this time, he lost his helm as he fell.

  He held off the first snapping of the powerful jaws and caught the second on the shaft of The Repentant. Garius quickly uttered a prayer to The Reaper and channeled necromantic energy into its underbelly in such a way as to send the worg sprawling away again. He felt some of the worg’s life force flow through him.

  The beast was so weakened from the blast that it lay still and did not notice Saeunn leaping directly toward its exposed belly. She drove the point of her great blade through its abdomen. It struggled in its death throes, until finally, it slumped to its side.

  Saeunn also fell away, collapsing to the hard soil. Garius accessed the regenerative plane, using that life force he’d stolen from the worg. He now channeled it out as healing power. Saeunn regained consciousness and opened her eyes, gasping until she realized that it was Garius leaning over her. He extended a hand and helped her to her feet.

  “Many thanks,” he said, pointing toward the worg’s carcass. “They are quite powerful. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  “I thank you, too, Inquisitor,” Saeunn countered. “You have mended my flesh and wiped the pain and numbness from my limbs.” Saeunn removed the fallen worg cadaver from her blade for the second time this eve, and wiped the small amounts of unfrozen blood on her woolen shirt, which she removed and tossed away. “I’d say we are even.” She offered a brief smile to the Inquisitor. “Tonight, we dine on worg meat!”

  “I suppose that would be appropriate,” Garius agreed. They heard a howl in the distance and realized that the fighting may not yet be ended.

  “The others!” Garius cried in a troubled voice as he snatched up his helm.

  He and Saeunn ran off toward the caravan. They only managed a few paces before they saw Elec there, inspecting it and the surrounding area, presumably searching for more of the frost worgs. Rose had just made it back to join him, saw them approaching in the distance, and seated herself in front of the fire, apparently warming herself.

  “Is anyone injured?” Garius asked once they were all together again.

  “I am fine,” Elec responded, coming to sit before the fire, too. He seemed a bit agitated, Garius thought, but said nothing,

  “I am fine also,” said Rose absently, staring into the fire, her mind seemingly miles from here.

  “We shall be feasting on a bounty of worg meat this evening,” Garius said. “We will make good use of that fire and appreciate the blessing of food we were afforded this day by The Mistress of the Hunt.”

  “Aye,” Elec agreed as he stood. “I’ll help gather and prepare the remains.”

  “Yes, let’s get it done and be gone quickly. There is a storm coming,” Garius remarked as he looked skyward fleetingly before moving off to inspect the caravan.

  Elec set off to do his part, but before he got far, Garius called after him.

  “Yes?” the elf responded, coming back to within earshot of the Inquisitor.

  “Not bad for someone who claims they are not a ‘capable warrior’,” he remarked, drawing a smile in return from the high-elf. “I’d say you need to rethink your position with regards to that opinion of yourself.”

  Later that evening, the four companions ate well, doused the fire and then continued off into the newly fallen snow.

  Chapter 16

  Barguth stumbled upon a room that appeared as if someone or something had been here in the recent past. There was a partially open barrel of ale with mugs floating in it, more empty mugs, cards and knucklebones scattered all over the ground, and overturned tables, but no sign of the scouting party that was assigned to this level.

  He also noted that there were the discarded remains of links of heavy chain that were twisted and snapped in half. The worg sniffed and growled, padding off toward the rear corner of the room and revealing an alcove to Barguth.

  Inside was a horrific odor that hit Barguth like a punch in the face. It smelled like rotting flesh, but he could not see its source. He went back into the larger room, removed a torch from his pack and lit it. He then returned to the adjoining room to further investigate, his worg leading the way.

  He saw the remains of the goblinoid scouting party lying in various states of death. Some of their flesh appeared to be torn from the bones. He shuddered to think what had done that to them.

  He shone the torch around the rest of the room, searching for clues as to the source of the carnage and stumbled upon the remnants of some foul undead creatures. He found parts of what her recognized as ghouls. They must have been responsible for the slaughter.

  But…what happened to the ghouls? Barguth wondered.

  The worg was sniffing around and began tearing at the remains while Barguth continued his investigation.

  The little goblin searched the ruins of the patrol and retrieved anything he deemed valuable from them. He was confused still as to what happened to the undead creatures that had presumably killed the goblinoid patrol. They were obviously battered and broken, bones shattered in some areas and they were nowhere near the fallen goblins and orcs.

  Something else killed them. Something else must be wandering the caves down here, he reasoned. He looked around, worried that whatever had done this to the ghouls might still be lurking nearby. He recalled the stone ripper that had appeared upstairs and wondered if more were lying in wait.

  “I must report this to Commander Grubb,” he whispered to the worg as he smacked its snout to get its attention.

  “Go!” he ordered as they left the room as quickly as they could, Barguth not looking back. He then headed down the marked passageways again, back to the upper level to his commander, moving at breakneck speed.

  From the Bastion of Skulls, the sanctum of Zabalas Dimonia, they had traveled northeast on horseback. Phaera had noticed that Zabalas’s own horse, which was the shade of the blackest night and quite possibly ethereal, did not seem to touch the groun
d with its hooves as it galloped. They had reached one of the many clandestine entrances to the Subterrane tunnels. These passages were known to both Megnus Bloodstone and Phaera Sine, but not to the surface folk. They had continued on foot for several days, stopping but once to eat and rest.

  The Subterrane was how all the races living in Wothlondia referred to the seemingly-limitless, winding underground caverns that burrowed deep beneath Wothlondia—and, in this particular case, the Dragon Fang Mountains.

  Zabalas was surrounded by his most faithful and loyal servants. The succubus, Phaera Sine, was to his left. Megnus Bloodstone, the slagfell warrior, was to his right and hovering somewhere between this world and another was the djinni, Prishnack.

  No one knew the true form of the djinn since they were forever covered in robes that cloaked their entire body and face, leaving only a pair of red orbs to be seen where the eyes should be. Prishnack rarely spoke a word to any of them. He tended to travel in the form of a wisp of air or even through the ground itself on occasion. But when he did speak, it was like a whisper carried on a distant breeze that seemed to echo and change pitch at times. Djinn, as was common knowledge, were masters over the four elemental planes, able to access their vast power at any time, and bending the elements to their will. Even Phaera, a half-demon, was impressed by the entire djinn race, which was no easy admission.

  As they journeyed, Zabalas used his supernatural command over the undead. When he passed a corpse or grave, he could somehow force the remains into servitude. The things became zombies, lifeless and soulless automatons that he commanded. Zabalas was also able to stem their ravenous hunger for flesh, making them docile servants to carry out his bidding.