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

by Gary F. Vanucci

  “I shall be on my way then,” Ganthorpe mentioned casually to the darkness, not knowing if the assassin was gone or not. He strode out of the room, up the stairs and through the many hidden doors into the warehouse above, until finally he emerged out into the street.

  Quickly and quietly navigating the avenues and alleyways within the various districts, he made his way toward the Hall of the High Council. Zeke and Aidan had confirmed that the priests of The Shimmering One had indeed returned to Oakhaven and that they were not alone. They also mentioned that Rose was not seen amongst them. He did not share any of this with the assassin, as he wanted to confirm the rumors firsthand.

  A short walk later had him climbing the steps to the Hall of the High Council. He turned the key and stepped into the building.

  “Master Ganthorpe,” called a servant, arms outstretched to receive his jacket. “A chill yet lingers in the air even now at the end of Winter’s Fade, my lord,” the man mentioned, referring to the unusually cold climate this month. It was lost on Ganthorpe, who nodded absently, handed him his coat, and then took to climbing the spiral staircase in search of Tiyarnon on the floors above.

  “I wonder if The Deluge will be this cold as well,” mumbled the servant as Ganthorpe made his way up the stairs.

  Reaching the top of the spiral staircase, Ganthorpe realized that he may not even find the high priest here. Then he heard voices in the main council chamber at the end of the hall and headed there. He did not find Tiyarnon, but instead found a haggard Nimaira Silvershade. The mage was poring over a parchment and her eyes regarded him briefly, as he entered the room.

  “Am I disturbing you, my lady?” Ganthorpe asked, bowing low.

  “Not at all, Ganthorpe. What brings you here at this late hour? There is nothing pressing for the envoy of the High Council that I am aware of,” she added, glancing up at him again. “Surely you must have other things that need tending?”

  “I am making myself available to help in any way that I can, my lady,” Ganthorpe replied, ignoring the cryptic comment.

  Does the sorceress know what I am?! Ganthorpe wondered.

  “Help? With what?”

  “I had heard that the priests returned,” Ganthorpe stated, sitting in a chair across from her now, his demeanor calm and collected again. “The ones that had stolen the artifact, no? I was offering my services to Tiyarnon in case he needs me. For anything.”

  “He has taken them back to the temple of The Shimmering One for further evaluation.”

  “And have our heroes returned victorious, then?” he asked, leaning in a bit.

  “Unfortunately not,” she admitted, her face frowning. She pushed the parchments away from her in frustration. Ganthorpe cocked his head in confusion, ushering her to speak more about it. “Go on.”

  “The priests returned with a merchant, without the missing artifact and without the Inquisitor and the rest of the search party,” she continued. “We do not know why, only that Thaurion tells us that he was possessed or some such, and that the…heroes…as you call them, are still searching for its whereabouts.”

  “Merchants, you say?”

  “Yes, rescued from highwaymen along the road somewhere in Heartwood Valley. And in return, they were charged with returning the acolytes safely to Oakhaven by the Inquisitor. They have succeeded in this and thank the gods for that,” Nimaira finished.

  “Yes, thank the gods indeed,” Ganthorpe reiterated.

  “But the artifact eludes us, the Inquisitor and his company remain absent, and we are no closer to recovering the damned thing.”

  “And these merchants…are they still in Oakhaven?”

  “Yes,” she stated flatly, pulling at a loose thread on her brightly colored robe. “They are guests of Tiyarnon this evening. Why do you ask?”

  “I thought that perhaps I could be of assistance. Maybe I could offer up my hearth and extra beds in my own home in the Nobles’ District?” he offered, a smile planted on his face as he made the offer.

  Nimaira looked to the sunroof in the ceiling, raising her eyebrows in consideration of this thought.

  “A kind gesture, Ganthorpe, but I believe that would be up to them…and Tiyarnon, for that matter. Perhaps take it up with him.”

  “I certainly will, my lady,” he said standing and bowing before heading down the stairs.

  “I certainly will,” he whispered as he hit the bottom step, waiting patiently for the servant to retrieve his coat, and pondering his next move.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Not what I’d expect from a dwarf,” teased Cassia as she rolled aside to lie next to Xorgram. She had felt at ease these past few days upon the comfortable linens that covered his bed and had been getting to know the leader of the Blackstone Brotherhood quite well despite earlier vows not to. She sat up and gazed upon his face, which reflected a sour appearance at her last remark.

  “What’s the matter, lover?” she asked him with sarcasm. “It works for me.”

  “Ye better be watchin’ yer tongue, lass,” Xorgram mockingly warned her.

  “Xorgram, you are so fragile at times, for one with such a rugged exterior,” Cassia teased, flipping her blonde locks to the side playfully and falling flat to lie on her belly. She propped her head up with her hands and stared at the dwarf, looking into his good, and strikingly handsome, blue eye. He was a bit weathered, but certainly attractive, she admitted in a moment of consideration.

  “I heard a rumor that you were heir to a throne once,” Cassia mentioned as she pulled the covers over her bare skin. “Mind tellin’ me more about that, my prince?”

  It was a very long while before Xorgram finally answered.

  Xorgram reflected quietly as the question echoed in his mind. “I guess I never really told ye about any of that, eh?”

  Cassia shifted onto her side with her arm propped under her head, remaining quiet. She shook her head in response. Xorgram shrugged at her inflexibility in the matter, so he’d have to give in. She wasn’t going anywhere, he realized. The dwarf shifted the patch on his eye, refitting it more comfortably into position, ran a hand through his dark hair, and sighed resignedly.

  “All right, then,” he began, slumping back into the pillows behind him and staring up at the ceiling.

  “It all started back ‘afore the attacks of them durned fire-breathing dragons,” he began with a sigh. “Me father—”

  “Ashenclaw!?” she said with awe and visibly shivered.

  “Aye—Ashenclaw.”

  “You saw her?” Cassia blurted. Xorgram merely shook his head in denial. “And your father…?”

  “Be King Brunta Rockrager.”

  Cassia’s lips pursed and she nodded in recognition, obviously knowing the Rockrager name, an influential and well-known clan of dwarves. He recalled his home, Monolithia, a dwarven city of lore—one of many.

  “Now I see where your penchant for leadership and charismatic speeches comes from. You are a prince.”

  “Was,” he corrected. “Are ye gonna let me tell ye the tale or not, woman?” Cassia shrunk under the authority of his tone and instead of stubbornly refuting it, remained silent in anticipation. She looked so playful, he thought, never really seeing this side of the emotionally distant woman before. She nodded for him to continue.

  “So, as fates be, a man named Brayden Mayoth led this village of Hollow Hill. It be truth that he discovered the first piece o’ ebonite in these mines. He sent fer counsel to Monolithia, where me and me kin made our homes in the mountains to the north. Me kin had a reputation as the best miners and smithies in the region.”

  “Blackstone, eh?” Cassia asked. Xorgram once more nodded, allowing her to interject this time without protest.

  “Me father and his advisors made their way here to Hollow Hill at Brayden’s askin’ ta study the ebonite. When me father arrived, I been told, be when the drakes attacked. He be tellin’ me he held the ebonite in his hands fer a heartbeat right afore the screams fell o’er them.”

&nb
sp; “The accounts are directly from you father’s tongue?” Cassia asked as she sat up and stared at him fixedly.

  “Most of ‘em. I been told partly by me pa and partly by ‘is council, though none made it back to Monolithia but me pa.” Xorgram suddenly laughed and placed his hands behind his head. “Ye know, the ore in the Blackstone Mountains be brittle an’ useless an’ me kin still be there tryin’ to uncover the good veins ta this day,” Xorgram spat, shaking his head. “Fools.”

  “Anyways, Ashenclaw burnt this town to ash in no time from me pa’s own recountin’, and Brayden and a few others were lucky enough ta be in the mines when it went down—though me father be the only lucky one,” he continued, moving from the bed to recover a robe.

  “There musta’ been gas in them mines. Me Father an’ Braydon made their way through the rear of the mines, nearin’ the bottom, an’ was blown down a hole.”

  “Iron Belly’s hole?” Cassia asked. Xorgram nodded.

  “He never spoke of it in detail, but it musta’ been gruesome. He an’ another got out, by his account, though the other died along the way back ta Blackstone. But, me father made it back by ‘imself. He be a tough ol’ dwarf.”

  “Reminds me of someone,” Cassia commented with admiration in her tone. Xorgram cracked a hint of a grin at the compliment and continued, leaning against the wall away from the bed and sliding to his rump.

  “Aye, he made it back, but his wounds were too far gone an’ he wasn’t much fer livin’. When he lay dyin’, he confessed ta me, givin’ me the ebonite clutched in his hand. He ne’er let it go. He tell’d me it be real and fer me to lead the clan there. While he lay there dyin’ I stood holdin’ the rock in me hand, not knowin’ what ta do. I didn’t want to lead me kin. Not e’er. I didn’t asked ta be no king.”

  Cassia shrank against the ferocity in his tone over that last outpouring and then she lay back down on the bed, listening closely once more.

  “I ain’t me father,” he added, standing back up and pacing in front of her at the foot of the bed. “So, I gathered me closest kin—Kilkutt and Fuddle—and asked ‘em ta accompany me to Hollow Hill. I told ‘em I ain’t made of the stuff o’ kings an’ that I wasn’t comin’ back. We made ta leavin’ afore the next dawn ta make fer the mines.”

  “They agreed, I see,” Cassia commented casually, smiling.

  Xorgram nodded and continued, still pacing but moving to his side of the bed. Cassia once more turned onto her side, leaning on her elbow as the sheets fell away to reveal more of her. Xorgram was so engrossed in the recounting of his tale that he didn’t even notice right away.

  “The place be a barren wasteland of charred huts an’ burnt thickets. We came ta find remains more broken than the next. It be truly gruesome what them dragons did an’ I be glad I ain’t ne’er seen her up close. I be guessin’ there ain’t many that can say that,” he said, giving pause as he considered the ferocity of that legendary dragon. He was surely glad that she was gone.

  “Anyways, it took us weeks ta clear the carrion away from the fields, burnin’ em further. Then we set ta clearin’ the entrance of the tunnels, covered o’er with rubble. Another day passed afore we was able ta squeeze inta the mines. An when we got in, it stunk worse than Skilgo’s breath or Kilkutt’s apron,” he continued with a chuckle, brushing away hair from in front of his face.

  “More bodies?” Cassia asked.

  Xorgram paused as he finally took notice of her bare chest. She covered herself slowly with the blanket, gesturing for him to continue.

  “Worse,” he finally managed. “After me an’ me boys made our way ta the bottom, we found the source of that stink.” He paused and she turned wide eyes to him, gesturing for him to continue.

  “Trolls.”

  Cassia frowned.

  “There musta’ been dozens of ‘em,” Xorgram went on. “And it be why we didn’t see bodies in the mines, cuz the durned things ate ‘em! Lucky fer us Fuddle had his crossbow with him—a repeatin’ kind. I aint ne’er seen one like it afore. The magic in the bow fixed ta puttin’ new bolts back in place as fast as he could shoot ‘em. He calls that weapon Shrew, cuz he thinks it be like an angry woman.”

  Cassia shrugged as if agreeing with the charge.

  “Fuddle had trolls with bolts stickin’ outta their hides, lookin’ like porcupines. Kilkutt an’ me set ta hackin’ ‘em with our axes. We spilled oil over ‘em and set ‘em on fire, knowin’ the blasted things would be puttin’ the flesh right back from where we took it!” Xorgram made as if he was swinging his axe as he recounted the events.

  “We was fightin’ ‘em, and hackin’ ‘em down, an’ managed ta half ‘em when we heard Fuddle scream. He had a troll standin’ o’er ‘em. I rushed ta help ‘im an’ buried me axe inta the durned thing’s skull. That’s when I noticed his legs’d been bent in ways legs ain’t meant ta be bent.”

  Xorgram noted a profound sorrow in the deep brown eyes of his typically stoic lover.

  “That explains the…gadget…he uses to get around, eh?” she managed after a brief pause. “Go on,” she added in a strained, but encouraging manner. Xorgram nodded and continued.

  “I went ta Fuddle’s aid right quick, chopped the troll down that threatened ta kill ‘im. Kilkutt joined me after settin’ the last of the trolls down an’ burnin’ ‘em. That’s when I met the troll chieftain face ta face—Bilonis—taller and stronger’n any of ‘em. Someone had ta stay with Fuddle and so I made Killkutt. I grabbed me axe an’ charged the thing. Bilonus’s eyes were dark as death an’ drool ran down his mouth, figurin’ me fer a fine meal. He had to stoop low in that section of the cave an’ that gave me an advantage. I escaped with me life, but not afore he got me good. Dwarven beards, he got me good!”

  Xorgram lifted his patch and displayed the ebon prosthetic in the socket. It sat in the cavity as his other eye widened. Xorgram’s chest moved with each deep breath, in and out, as he steadied himself. The area beneath the patch exhibited a deep scar running vertically across the eye, marring his otherwise handsome face.

  “Then it be my turn. Me sight went blind in me right eye an’ fury fueled me next few actions. I drove Bilonus back, hackin’ and hewin’ with purpose. I spotted me a hole in the floor an’ pushed the durned troll toward it. By the time the bastard realized me plan, it was fallin’ ta the rocks below. That’s when I first seen ol’ Iron Belly,” Xorgram said with a wide smile, recalling that memory. “He got me first, but I got ‘im best! The tyrantian worm swallowed ‘im in one gulp. I don’t e’en think he tasted ‘im!”

  Xorgram bellowed with laughter at that recollection, giving Cassia cause to smile too. She removed herself from the bed and strode over to the dwarf, hugging him tightly against her bare body, kissing him atop his head as he buried his face against her belly.

  Xorgram managed to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror that leaned against the wall as he freed himself from her embrace, grimacing at the scar. “Ya see what that durned troll done ta’ me face?”

  “Aye,” agreed Cassia. “I see it. I can see the outward scars that may reflect a grisly quality to some. But I also understand the qualities inside that make you the leader you are, too.”

  “Be that right?” Xorgram said, slapping her on the buttocks playfully. “Is Cassia gettin’ soft on me?”

  “You tell me,” she said, yanking his hair, forcing his face up to meet hers. “So, you aren’t the lord of Monolithia, but you are the lord of the Blackstone Brotherhood—by choice. Sometimes I don’t understand you, Xorgram,” she said, not unkindly, offering him a playful smile, before releasing his hair and kissing him on the top of his head.

  “Here, I ain’t no king. I be mentor, miner an’ advisor—but I be no king. Me people be here cuz they want ta—not cuz of their bloodline.”

  “Whatever you say, my king,” she said sarcastically, pulling the dwarf on top of her as she fell backward onto the linens of his bed. He kissed her deeply, quickly forgetting the memories of his troubled past. />
  Jorlin Walden’s thoughts turned to the item he carried in his rucksack, strapped to his back. He bore with him the Hammer Pridemoon, an ancestral artifact and magical hammer with qualities of great value, especially to smithies, or so he was told.

  He was instructed to remain silent about it until he arrived safely in Semmeroth. His queen was irate and the council had given him this chance at redemption. He meant to make good on it. Heramon Pridemoon had spoken up on his behalf and provided him this second opportunity to obtain forgiveness and honor. He would not disappoint the brother of King Alabaster Pridemoon, nor would he disgrace the city of Norgeld any longer.

  He figured once he was there, he’d meet the unscrupulous envoy, best him in combat, and command him to take them to Amara. Once he found her, he would free her from her captivity, or die trying. If he brought her back safely, the queen would throw a feast in his name, and more importantly, he would no longer have to live in shame, reclaiming his knighthood.

  He galloped on, giving his horse a kick in the side and spurring it on. Thoughts of a glorious return occupied his mind and he could think of nothing that would satisfy him more.

  He felt the reassuring pommel of his longsword at his side and recalled the years of preparation it took to become a knight. He thought fondly of his ascendancy within the knighthood, of becoming a member of the Norgeld Watch and, eventually, a chosen member of the Royal Blood Guard, assigned to watch over the castle and its nobility. He remembered the rigorous training and many years of service, numerous decorations in battle, and countless achievements that preceded his status to the Royal Blood Guard.

  All of this gave him the confidence that he could handle a simple fool who wanted to abscond with the Pridemoon’s treasured family heirloom. Not this day, Jorlin thought. Not this day or any other, as long as I draw breath.

  He squeezed the reins on the horse and spurred it on.

  CHAPTER 17