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

by Gary F. Vanucci

  Amara looked hopefully at the mirror that hung upon the wall of Nimaira’s room and waited patiently. Garius and Tiyarnon stood several paces back as Nimaira continued her ritual. The mirror was beginning to shift and flicker, seeming to move with the shadows as the torch light flickered.

  “I’ve had some troubling dreams regarding my mother recently,” Amara admitted to the two men, almost as an afterthought. Garius nodded as Tiyarnon leaned upon his staff wearily.

  “What sort of dreams, my lady?” Tiyarnon asked her with an absent stare.

  “Disturbing ones…where she is trapped or held against her will, surrounded by darkness and gloom.” Garius glanced at Tiyarnon, trying to discern what the High Priest was thinking.

  Before Garius could do another thing, a murky representation of Queen Lynessa appeared in the mirror.

  Nimaira Silvershade’s eyes shone white and stared blankly as if she were in a trance, which the Inquisitor believed was exactly the case. She had used her own body as a vessel to allow the communion to take place.

  “What is this?” cried the image of Queen Lynessa, distress evident in her tone. Her dirty-blonde hair was disheveled beneath her eloquent crown and her habitually tidy presentation of noble dress was askew and punctuated with wrinkles.

  “Mother! It is your daughter! I am free and am coming home to you!”

  “My daughter, yes,” she understated calmly. “Hello, Amara. When will you be arriving home, my dear?” The queen’s voice lacked the sentiment and elation that everyone watching would have expected.

  “Something is wrong,” Garius stated bluntly. “But does the problem stem from the spell or the woman within?”

  Tiyarnon frowned at that proposal.

  “I can count on one finger the mistakes that Nimaira has made in in the decades that I have known her. Her rituals are flawlessly prepared and executed.”

  “Her mother seems not to recognize her,” he whispered to Tiyarnon, leaning close.

  “It would appear so,” Tiyarnon whispered. “Things seem to be going from bad to worse, and questions continue to amass. I fear answers will be hard to find.”

  “Perhaps her sanity has fled her? After all, she has lost her husband, assumed the mantle of rulership of a thriving city, and was until recently, faced with the prospect of losing her only daughter,” Garius suggested.

  Before any of them could offer another scenario, the portal began to shrink and Nimaira quivered and convulsed. Her eyes flickered and she fell to the hard wooden floor of her quarters, knocking her head soundly.

  Tiyarnon hurried toward her and cradled her head in his arms. Her stare was blank and crimson stained his hands. He muttered a prayer under his breath and closed his eyes. A white light flowed through his hands and into her, sealing the wound shut.

  Garius stood in respect of the event, admiring the ease with which Tiyarnon was able to call upon the divine energy within the regenerative plane. The Shimmering One must be pleased with so pious a servant, he considered, just as he himself had once been not so long ago.

  “My mother?! What has happened to her? What—”

  “I do not know, my lady,” Garius interjected, bending a knee before her and attempting to quell her anxiety. The Repentant was held tightly in his hand as he used it to balance himself. “We will be leaving to bring you to her at first light.”

  “You will come to find your answers soon enough, my lady,” Nimaira said calmly before casting another spell. As she spoke the ancient words, the blood remnants that stained her silvery hair completely vanished before their eyes.

  “You both wield such extreme magic with the simplicity born of menial tasks!” Amara expressed, overwhelmed by everything to this point.

  “When you have known someone for so many years, you begin to be less and less taken by sorcerous displays,” Nimaira said kindly to Amara.

  Garius observed as the princess began to weep into her open hands, clearly upset at the failed attempt to commune with her mother. She was most assuredly worried about her mother’s current state, as well as her recent dreams, which she had spoken of with Garius. She moved away and collapsed into a plush chair in the far corner of the room, tears streaming down her face.

  “And Rolin? What of him? Where is he?” Garius asked, not even realizing until now the absence of the cantankerous dwarven warrior.

  “He left weeks ago to make his way to Norgeld and to appease the queen by sending troops to aid in the search for Amara, which, of course, is no longer needed,” Tiyarnon stated. “But, we will certainly need to combine our forces to fragment and eventually break the charge of the upstart goblinoids and their force to the south. Perhaps I will have Rolin remain there with those excess troops for a time.”

  Tiyarnon spun back to Nimaira again and began to make for the door.

  “Come, my dear.” He opened the door as Nimaira followed and stopped before the servants in the hall, addressing them. “Assemble the Council. We have much to discuss.”

  Garius made it back to his feet, replaced his mighty warhammer and followed after them, leaving the sobbing Princess of Norgeld alone with her face buried deeply in her hands.

  CHAPTER 24

  Rose turned a corner and stood upon the Street of Jackals. She approached the facade of her home as silent as a shadow. Her cowl was pulled tightly about her head and her cloak was wrapped around her, making it difficult for any onlookers to tell if she were man or woman. There wasn’t a soul on the streets this afternoon, which wasn’t unusual. The Commons were generally more crowded by nightfall and into the wee hours of the morning.

  A bell sounded in the distance and she flinched, which sent her heart to racing in her chest. It was just after midday according to the damnable toll. She had forgotten about the bells, as she had been absent from the city for months.

  I fight ogres and the living dead…and the sound of bells chiming is what almost stops my heart, she thought sarcastically. Brogan, you magnificent bastard!

  She inspected the door and windows on the ground floor for disturbances and found everything exactly as she’d left it several months ago. She’d heard rumors of goings on within the Thieves’ Guild from one of the Shadowhands, an informant who she’d come to trust. He was an old drunk of a rascal with incredibly steady hands. He informed her that Ganthorpe was reportedly unhappy with her choices of late. She didn’t particularly care, though, especially considering their personal history, which had been on-again off-again but had remained off-again for the past several years.

  She checked the lock on the door and then proceeded through the narrow alley, forgetting until now how tightly spaced the homes were in the Commons. She stood before the rear entrance, performed the same meticulous inspection, checked the lock on that door and then walked the shadows into her home.

  Her house smelled of stale ale and unwashed linens and the heat, along with the smell trapped within, was enough to cause her to flinch as she opened the door.

  Rose entered her home quietly and carefully, avoiding the few traps she’d set at the back door, disarmed, and then quickly reset them. She realized she was parched and wanted some wine. She inspected her pantry and saw she had one bottle, half-empty of course.

  “This will never do,” she grumbled to herself, removing her leathers and then the light chain shirt beneath that.

  “Glad to be relieved of your weight, too,” she added as she tossed the chain shirt onto a chair and wiped sweat from between her bosom and from the back of her neck. She pulled her red mane into a ponytail and sighed. The thought of cleaning herself appealed to her and she quickly undressed, dipped a rag into a bucket of tepid water and washed herself clean.

  She tossed the filthy and damp rag into the now muddy waters of the bucket and sighed. Shortly after, she began rifling through a few bags in her closet, looking for something that she could use as a disguise.

  “Time to visit my old friend, Melin,” she thought as she pulled a puffy-sleeved linen dress over her lithe frame
and tied an apron around her waist. “But I will do so quietly and get the wine to go. No sense announcing my return,” she considered.

  With that, she made her way quietly into the streets and back alleys in the guise of a serving wench.

  A dark figure emerged from the recessed shadows of the kitchen. The figure, covered in black leathers from head to toe, maneuvered silently over to the cabinet in search of wine. She had more than a penchant for it, he was told.

  Helgoth Argentus, always the clever assassin, preferred this method—the smart kill. He could kill her in combat just as easily as a man might swat a gnat, but the preparation, planning and execution of techniques involved with the poisoning of a target was so much more satisfying.

  The elven assassin produced a small vial from a pouch on the side of his belt and studied its contents. Carefully he proceeded to uncork the stopper on the half-drunk bottle of wine and emptied the contents of the flask inside. He shook the bottle, allowing the poison to interact with the red wine and wore an arrogant smirk of approval beneath his mask, replacing it in the cupboard once more.

  The toxin attacked the system of nerves along the spine and would first paralyze her and then slowly kill her. He recalled how the victim died and reviewed the stages of death in his mind.

  First, she would retch and convulse, which would eventually slow to a gradual halt. Her skin would turn pale next as the life slowly drained from her. She’d grow weaker and weaker until her heart stopped its precious beating. This would encompass the span of at least one full cycle of day to night.

  He had an antidote, of course, and would decide, based on the whims of his client, Ganthorpe Randolph, if he would extend her the reprieve from death.

  He slipped into the shadows, disappearing from sight all together, planning to return several hours later to collect her and bring her to Ganthorpe.

  As for now, he had more experiments to test on his own body. He’d managed to sew chain onto his skin in order to give his soft flesh protection in case anyone did manage to land a blow upon him. He felt that he had not disciplined himself enough this day for not reaching his personal goals in his own rigorous, daily training. He had to teach himself a lesson for that. Who if not him would that perfect performance was necessary to not only survive, but also thrive, as an assassin?

  She was so happy to see her mother again that she smiled sincerely for the first time in a long while. Saeunn hugged her mother so tightly that she squeezed the breath from her lungs, lifting her off the ground and then setting her down.

  Huuna’s long linen gown was blemished with various fruit stains from picking, peeling and such.

  “Mother, it is good to see you again! And I see you have found a source of coin too!” Saeunn cried, referring to her mother’s job as she held her at arm’s length.

  “As it is to see you, child! Your father would be proud of you,” Huuna said with a hand on Saeunn’s shoulders, staring into her eyes. “And yes, I have taken to working in the Harvest District now, picking and planting fruits and vegetables. I don’t want to bore you with it, though it is quite satisfying,” she added with a laugh.

  “Take me to your home and show me where you live,” Saeunn instructed her mother and Huuna did exactly that, a smile crossed her face and her brown eyes flooded with tears of joy as the two of them walked.

  The two barbarian women made their way through the streets of Oakhaven until they reached Huuna’s home. She was living in the Commons with several of the tribeswoman from Chansuk. They had taken to sowing crops, picking fruits and vegetables, storing them in salted water for preservation and anything else that they were asked to do.

  “Thank the gods that winter is gone and The Deluge brings warmer clime along with its rains.”

  “Aye, mother,” Saeunn nodded as Huuna led her along to the Harvest District, showing her the fields of crops along the outskirts of the Nobles’ District. “The winter season is not one I hold dear either and puts an end to the harvest.”

  “Let us share wine and tales of what you have done these past months, my dear,” Huuna insisted, pushing her daughter forward. “We will have many more days for catching up, eh?”

  “I…am not so sure,” Saeunn said, releasing the hair from her ponytail and shaking it loose. “We did not find the item we sought. I do not know what they are planning next.”

  Huuna’s face soured notably at that remark, but then she forced a smile through it.

  “No matter. We shall drink to your return, no matter how brief. Now, let us gather the others and we shall begin the festivities!” With that, they were off to the Entertainment District and an evening of drinking and storytelling.

  Elec was smiling ear to ear, the wind rushing past his face, as he and Adok flew aimlessly through the clouds above the city of Oakhaven.

  “It is so good to have you back, my friend!” Elec bellowed through the persistent whipping of the wind and the flapping of Adok’s wings. He truly felt at home upon the back of the magnificent eagle, more so than he did anywhere else.

  As he hovered along on the breeze, his hand went mechanically to the bandolier of potions and his fingers navigated the glass beneath the leather. He fingered the cork and imagined how his latest mixture would affect him. There was a very real craving that he felt that wanted him to down the contents of the flask right then and there. He desired so badly to taste the effects and feel the assurance that accompanied the other effects as they flowed through his veins.

  He suppressed the urge to taste of the elixir immediately and shivered as chills surfaced upon his skin.

  He patted the giant eagle on the side of its beak and spurred it on faster, trying to fill a certain need for excitement.

  “Perhaps I am growing fond of swordplay after all, Adok,” he offered, reasoning that he indeed was enjoying the danger and the thrill involved with swordplay.

  Nothing matched it, he realized, understanding what Shardrin the Scoundrel was trying to teach him those many years ago when he taught Elec the handling of sword and dagger.

  His thoughts went then to his father briefly and then to his mother, Alaise. He missed her, he realized, and also his uncle. He even missed his siblings at that moment.

  “One day soon, perhaps, we shall see them again,” he suggested to the eagle with an affectionate pat on its side. He urged Adok along, faster and faster, until Elec’s face was red with the burn as he cut through the teeth of the chilling wind.

  Orngoth lay uncomfortably upon a bed as herbalists and priests alike observed the strange angle at which his left leg had come together. There was a clear bend in the shin, as if mending improperly without aid of a splint.

  Orngoth was there at the appeal of Garius, who asked him to seek out counsel from these folks about the broken bones he’d received at the hands of the orc commander, Grubb. His left shin had been snapped in half less than a month ago and it was completely healed, aided some by the healing powers of the Inquisitor and the acolytes of The Shimmering One. And yet, it had mended completely of its own accord. Not only that, but he had been using it at full capacity.

  He sat there patiently and quietly, his muscular frame beginning to wear a divot in the bedding.

  “Impossible,” commented one man, holding a small, rounded piece of glass at the end of a stick that made his face look funny when Orngoth stared up at him.

  “And yet, that is the truth of it,” stated another man, with a beard that dangled to the middle of his chest. The crowd parted way as a priestess of The Shimmering One entered the congregation and moved forward. Her white robes flowed along the ground while she walked and it seemed to Orngoth that she was gliding along the ground. Her hair was as black as pitch and her face was not the pale white of most humans, but slightly darker and more exotic. He knew she was not from Oakhaven as he sat still upon the bed, lying back and resting his weight on his elbows.

  “May I?” she asked aloud to no one in particular. She began chanting a prayer and the words grew louder as
she went on. Orngoth’s body shone brightly under the light of this avatar of the sun god. For a moment, none could set their eyes upon the half-ogre and he could see nothing but white light. Once the light began to fade, his sight shifted focus and his peripherals caught a glow from beneath his chin.

  “You see?” said the beautiful priestess gesturing to his neck. “The amulet he wears has aligned with the powers of the regenerative plane, granting him divine healing!” she added excitedly, moved closer to Orngoth, and leaned in.

  “Someone has gifted you something very special here…treasure it. Though the magic is not strong, it is certainly present,” she explained to him. He nodded, not quite understanding what she meant, only that the chain his mother had given him was magical in nature.

  “As long as you wear this, it will heal all wounds over time. That is why your leg has a slight bend to it. It began to heal under the magic within the amulet before it was set properly.”

  Again, he nodded his understanding as the others began to disperse. Eventually he and the priestess were alone and she bowed to him kindly before taking her leave. Once he was alone, he touched the tight chain and inexplicably felt the affection of his mother through its warm surface.

  Amtusk finally saw Oakhaven’s gates. He knew that this was where he would find the one named Rose. She reminded him so much of his mother. He considered the undeniable infatuation with the woman and tried to rationalize his own feelings, but found no sound logic for his compulsion to follow her.

  Oakhaven was also where he’d been born decades prior and he wondered if his mother was even alive still. He intended to find out.

  As he galloped nearer, the buildings in the distance seemed to climb higher into the sky and became clearer. He thanked the gods that his steed was powerful and required little in the way of rest as its legs thundered beneath him.

  It was midday for sure, but he had no idea for how long he’d been riding. He was sore, but wanted to make it to Oakhaven as soon as he could. It seemed like it had been days in-between meals, but he knew that was not true. He’d all but gone through his rations, though, chewing the very last of the hard tack he’d brought along as he continued toward his destination.