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

by Gary F. Vanucci

  They continued for a while until they arrived at an intact but unkempt structure, not unlike a barn. Zabalas swung the huge doors wide and entered into the dimly lit shelter where Dainn witnessed a figure in the shadows.

  As Zabalas approached her—for it appeared to be a she—the lithe and shapely lady moved away from the intimidating man fearfully. As far as he could tell, this was the only other presumably living thing in the entire area. She appeared in tattered, disheveled robes and her face was concealed in shadow from the hood that covered her head, but her shape was certainly feminine.

  The woman in the barn backed away and Zabalas opened the first stall to allow a magnificent and enormous horse to escape its confines. The warlord mounted this steed and Dainn could not help but notice the red eyes of the horse. They brought forth memories of the fieriest coals produced in the forges of Shadowmere.

  Zabalas gave orders to the unsteady female and she released three horses from their stables, presumably for Megnus, Dainn and Phaera. The color of these animals resembled the blackest caverns of the Subterrane. He looked to see the vaporous form of the djinni, Prishnack, who would be travelling along on the wind, following them.

  “Let us go,” Zabalas announced, sitting imposingly atop his mount as it trotted out of the barn and stood facing the exit of the courtyard. “I have much to discuss with the mighty orc chieftain Kelgarek. Once that is taken care of, we will be going our separate ways. I have something that requires my attention and the four of you have an artifact to retrieve.”

  The sun was rising in the east, above the Dragon Fangs Mountains along the eastern border of Wothlondia. Zabalas donned his helm, which covered his head completely, just as the sun’s rays peeked over the crest of the mountain range.

  “I do so despise the sunlight,” Zabalas commented, his voice sounding like something wraithlike as it escaped from beneath the helm. Dainn noted that the eye slots were covered in shadow and not a single hint of flesh escaped from beneath that blackened steel shell.

  Phaera chuckled at the comment and eyes the man lustfully. Dainn looked her up and down and noted that she always wore a cruel smile on her face. Before he could give her any more consideration, Zabalas spoke again.

  “Let us ride then, and see if the orc chieftain can succeed in revealing to me the whereabouts of my guest’s amulet,” he concluded as he scampered off with haste toward the gates of the ruined city. The other three riders and the djinni followed behind him and his trail of dust.

  And so, they began their journey northwest towards their destination, the former home to a barbarian tribe, and current home to Zabalas’s Dark Legion—Chansuk.

  Kelgarek paced back and forth. His advisors waited anxiously for what he might say next. He was surrounded by many of the goblin and orc shamans and the king of the Bloody Fang goblin clan, Kogh. They were in the largest structure that Chansuk had to offer, a meeting hall that Kelgarek had converted into his own private quarters, and yet the vast space somehow seemed as if it were shrinking by the minute as far as Barguth was concerned.

  He stood on the outskirts of the host gathered, pacing back and forth near the exit, despite being told repeatedly by Kogh that Kelgarek was not going to tear him limb from limb.

  “The Dark One will not be pleased,” provoked Kogh with the opening statement, as he fingered the sharp tip of his double-headed spear. He hid a smirk as he adjusted the gem-encrusted crown on his sparsely haired head. He enjoyed toying with the mighty orc’s emotions, though Barguth was more than terrified at the thought of what an enraged Kelgarek might do to him.

  “But we are still many and will grow in numbers again soon,” he pacified after seeing Barguth’s expression. “I would not worry so much about the losses of even a hundred,” Kogh continued. The goblin king certainly wanted to irritate the orc chieftain, as he had voiced this over and over while they supped last eve, but he wanted to do it in a way that did not result in the beheading of the goblin envoy, which Barguth appreciated.

  “I lost a legion of my orcs including my second in command!” barked Kelgarek, his face contorting with each word into a mask of indignation. All present recoiled at the ferocity of his tone. “Grubb lies among the dead!” Kelgarek rushed to tower directly over the tiny goblin king, seething with obvious disdain. It was well known that Kelgarek did not want Kogh here—or any goblin at all for that matter—and he looked for ways to take it out on those goblins with whom he was forced to ally.

  “And my grand shaman, Tukk, is gone too!” he continued, looking down upon Kogh. Spittle seeped from the sides of his mouth, passing his tusks as he spat the words. His red eyes looked to bore a hole right through Kogh. The orc’s massive chest heaved with labored breaths and veins protruded from his forehead and neck.

  Kogh, of course, knew precisely what he was doing in whipping the orc chieftain into an uncontrollable frenzy. It was all for his own amusement. And he would sit back and observe in glee, as the orc would take that anger out on anything and anyone nearby.

  Kogh snickered as he turned his back on the massive orc. The goblin, despite being forced to work with the brutish and disrespectful Kelgarek, did not willingly accept his place in the hierarchy of the newly formed alliance of tribes. He confided in Barguth that he believed Kelgarek’s anger would eventually lead to a disastrous mistake, leaving him in charge of the Dark Legion.

  “I am sure the Dark One will have a plan and will also understand the importance of brave Barguth’s presence. He will be able to inform us of the…events that came to light,” Kogh continued, choosing his words carefully and staring into the eyes of Barguth, smiling still.

  “Do you understand the importance of the mission, Kogh?!” asked Kelgarek in a loathsome tone. “It was vital to Zabalas that these priests be returned to him! And now, not only has that failed, but I am faced with the loss of soldiers in the process!”

  “Of course I understand,” Kogh said, further quelling the anger of the orc, while running clawed fingers along the feathers that hung from his spear. “I am merely saying that he is sure to have a reserve plan. The Dark One is no fool.”

  King Kogh spun away from the orc chieftain and winked to Barguth. He was waiting and allowing that statement to sink in. Kogh had meant to unnerve the chieftain for sure, but Barguth was still terrified as to what he would do to him.

  Kogh craved for Kelgarek to be full of doubt and unease when the Dark One arrived. A shiver ran down Barguth’s spine as he imagined Zabalas’s own disappointment in hearing the news. Kogh held his grin, covering the smirk with a hand over his mouth.

  Barguth knew that Kelgarek was not only strong physically, but intellectually and tactically as well. He was by far the epitome of orcish evolution. And he would therefore understand the prodding words of Kogh for what they were. Kogh was playing a dangerous game, but the king of goblins was no slouch in tactics and warfare either.

  “I will speak with my shamans immediately,” Kelgarek said as he turned abruptly away from the goblin king. He walked with pride away from Kogh and Barguth, his throng of orc shaman and advisors following after him, peeking back toward Kogh, though Kelgarek did not give either of the goblins a second glance.

  As the orc chieftain sat in his makeshift throne, the goblin duo made their way out of the hut and past the guards stationed there. When they were out of earshot, Kogh grabbed Barguth by the shoulder and spoke.

  “It won’t be long now before the Dark One arrives!” he whispered excitedly, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

  Barguth stared at Kogh and wondered how it would all play out. Perhaps there was room for Kogh to emerge as the leader of the Dark One’s forces after all? He patted Barguth on the shoulder and walked away, leaving the unnerved goblin alone with his lingering fears and doubts.

  Amtusk approached the area he called home with a sense of adventure stirring within him that he hadn’t felt in years. So many questions ran through his mind as he continued the journey back to Hollow Hill. He found hi
mself occasionally stopping to see if he was being followed.

  He saw no one.

  He picked his path carefully so that he could not be tracked and made it to the base of the hill. He began his climb up the winding path. Along the way, thoughts of these latest aggressors entered his mind, leaving him with so many questions.

  Eventually, he saw the familiar, derelict gate that surrounded the village and took note of the sentries positioned exactly where they were supposed to be, hidden and alert. He signaled them as he approached, indicating that he was alone.

  He wondered further about the strange elf who’d engaged him. He felt that the elf would offer him more of a challenge, but something impeded the elf’s mind. He was not sure what happened. Perhaps he was drunk? He wished to test not only his new axe, but his skills in combat as well, for his prowess was amongst the very best in the Blackstone Brotherhood. He hadn’t been in an actual fight in years. The Brotherhood practiced a clandestine type of warfare, ambushing passersby, or bullying the inferior travelers into handing over their valuables before sending them on their way or to an early grave.

  This often did not sit well with the half-orc, but his debt to Xorgram Eboneye was not yet paid and he would see it through.

  He practiced the martial arts daily, either by himself or with others who wanted to train. But the real thing was different. He enjoyed the competition, as long as the battle was fair. There was no honor, otherwise.

  There was something about the real thing—the adrenaline rush, the dryness of the mouth, the narrowing of the vision, the increased heart rate, and the implementation of years of training. None of those tangible effects could be simulated.

  The dark-haired elf had put up a fight, albeit briefly. He anticipated a rematch in the future as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

  He looked down once more at his shadowsteel axe head and appreciated the fine craftsmanship. “Perhaps soon I will have the opportunity to put you to the test.”

  “What is the issue?” asked Synewulf. “Where are your men?”

  Amtusk could smell the alcohol on his fellow raid leader’s breath, but kept his tongue silent. Amtusk shook his head in disgust at the once-capable-warrior-turned-cutthroat.

  Synewulf was the opposite of Amtusk in every way. He fought with dishonor and would take any advantage offered by his opponent in combat, often resorting to shady tactics and dirty fighting to gain the upper hand. Amtusk believed this to be cowardly and respected the honor of combat, just as his ancestors had.

  “We were counter-attacked by a group of well-armed and capable persons that made short work of my unit,” answered Amtusk reservedly, not enjoying having to admit to such things. He spun to witness Synewulf glowering at him in response.

  “And yet, here you are,” Synewulf offered with a grin that twisted into an open snicker, provoking Amtusk into grasping the handle of his axe. He forced his hand from the shaft of the weapon and continued past Synewulf, planting a shoulder into his chest. He would not allow himself to be intimidated by this coward. Synewulf sneered at him while he ran a hand through his ragged blonde hair.

  “This ain’t over by a long shot, pig-face,” he mumbled loud enough for Amtusk to hear.

  Amtusk ignored the bait and headed directly toward the entrance of the mines. He continued down the long passageway past the laborers and toward Xorgram’s private quarters. He made it to the first landing and descended the ladder. But instead of moving to the bottom of that landing, he stopped at one in between the two, where another, less-used platform was situated.

  Amtusk stepped onto the platform and spun on his heel, standing before the largely concealed door that was Xorgram’s quarters. He knocked hard on the camouflaged wooden door that appeared as just another section of the wall to those who did not know of its presence.

  A clicking sound was heard on the other side and Amtusk knew the dwarf was using a hidden peephole to observe him. That was followed by the distinct sound of locks being thrown. A bar sounded as it was slid across the door and it swung wide to reveal the stout figure of Xorgram Eboneye, who hurried him inside

  “What are ye doin’ here?!” Xorgram asked his raid leader, who stood with his eyes directly on the floor, gazing at his boots. He began nervously scratching a tuft of the deep auburn hair sporadically populating his chin that he considered a goatee.

  Amtusk slowly raised his face to meet Xorgram’s own and the half-orc could immediately see an expression of concern adorning his leader’s face.

  “Who is there?” called a squirrelly, high-pitched voice from inside the room. Xorgram ignored the call and cocked his head to the side.

  “What happened?”

  “I…I was…my team was slain,” Amtusk finally managed. “I am sorry.”

  “Slaughtered? By who?” Xorgram stood with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for an explanation, but not pushing him. After a moment of silence, Amtusk spoke again.

  “There was a group of strangers that came from the east beyond the Oakcrest Mountains,” explained the half- orc. “A battle followed and they…”

  “And?” asked Xorgram. “How many of ye be left?”

  “Me,” answered Amtusk. “The rest were killed. I saw the bodies.”

  Xorgram could only shake his head. Before he could continue his questioning, there was the unmistakable sound of metal gears whirring followed by the sound of metal on stone. Xorgram craned his head around to witness the gnome inventor, Fuddle Mucklewink. His huge goggles rested upon his head, partially obscuring his auburn locks that were streaked with grey.

  From the waist up, he looked completely normal. But upon closer inspection, beneath his lower garments, was a pair of metal legs—mechanized ones that took the place of his lower extremities. The sound of whirring was the motorized chassis that powered his lower limbs.

  “Stop makin’ all that noise, ye bucket o’ bolts!” Xorgram called back in a bluster, clearly in a sour mood after hearing the half-orc’s news.

  “Perhaps you should call on Darmorn and have him pray to whatever gods he does to bring a downpour,” Fuddle suggested. The dwarf looked at him with an inquisitive expression. “To cover his tracks.”

  “Aye,” agreed Xorgram with a nod as he spun back to stare at Amtusk as he raised an eyebrow. “Were ye followed?”

  Amtusk merely shook his head. Xorgram looked up at him again with a troubled expression.

  “I was not followed. I am sure of it,” stated the half-orc without hesitation.

  Xorgram looked back at the gnome, who shrugged before burying his face back in a parchment.

  “Give Darmorn the go-ahead. Can’t be too careful. I can’t be havin’ anything or anyone jeopardizin’ the work,” Xorgram explained. Amtusk bowed low in response to his leader’s command.

  “I shall see to it,” Amtusk acknowledged coming out of his bow. As he turned away, he felt a stubby fingered hand grab his left arm and spin him around.

  “We be needin’ to discuss things in more detail just as soon as I be done here,” Xorgram said. “I want to know who did that to me men.”

  Amtusk nodded and headed back toward the landing and then quickly scaled the ladder. He also made a mental note that the elevator contraption was almost complete. Xorgram had Fuddle build it for two reasons—it would allow the workers to move things a bit more easily and safely to and from each level. It also would mean that the gnome would have an easier time of moving between the levels without the aid of Skuros or Kroskus. Fuddle claimed that it was a difficult endeavor, as his mechanical legs did not have the proper joint manipulation required to climb those ladders effectively. It was also why he almost never left his own quarters on the lower levels.

  Amtusk made his way back out toward the main area of what used to be Hollow Hill’s village proper. He passed all of the buildings as well as the tiny demons placed there by Helene, the warlock, along with the few sentries standing at their posts. He continued on and made his way east toward the fam
iliar area which accommodated a large cave mouth. Darmorn often spent time in the shapes of wild creatures—most notably, a dire bear, and often preferred the solitude that the cavern offered.

  Amtusk shook the hanging metal bars that sounded lightly but were loud enough to indicate to the druid that a visitor had arrived. He walked inside and found the elf sitting, legs crossed over one another, praying or meditating, he could not tell which. There was a strong, permeating odor of alcohol that penetrated Amtusk’s nostrils.

  Before he could consider it further, Darmorn glanced up to regard him, his dilated brown eyes locking with Amtusk’s own.

  “I am needed?” Amtusk nodded.

  “I have been sent with word from Xorgram. He requests that you call to the powers of nature and ask the gods to deliver rain to wash away all tracks in the area.”

  “It shall be done. The Harvester shall heed my call,” said the elven druid. “Now go, this shall require much preparation.” With that, Darmorn took a swig of ale from his mug.

  “Do yer best,” Amtusk stated as he headed out of the cave mouth and he passed Synewulf on his way out. They spoke not a word to each other. He was obviously visiting Darmorn to share ale with the druid. Legends of their alcoholism was something that had been spreading throughout the camp and it would not be much longer before the entire village knew.

  This is some group you’ve assembled here, Xorgram, thought Amtusk with a shake of his head as he continued along into the mines. He did not look forward to sharing the details of the failed heist with Xorgram.

  Rogoth heard the voice again, calling to him in his thoughts. He was working in the mines today as requested by Skilgo Firehammer, the head miner. He could no longer deny the thing what it wanted, he decided.

  “We need to work together,” called the voice of Cyrza to his subject. “I can give you everything that you have ever wanted and more!”

  Perhaps there was a ring of truth to the voice calling to him from the amulet which Rogoth had not understood. It suddenly seemed like a good idea to him now. Besides, if he killed his wife, it would open up doors for him—perhaps Xorgram might even offer him a seat in the coven. Meliana was only holding him back from what he wanted—from what they both wanted, he decided.