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

by Gary F. Vanucci

  But neither hunger nor weariness was his focus. Only finding the one named Rose.

  Rose arrived home undetected and glanced about to make sure she was not followed. She had ducked back and forth along many of the streets on the way back, zigzagging and pausing as needed to watch for pursuers, even jumping in and out of the shadows on occasion.

  She smiled sincerely as she recalled briefly the surprise in Melin’s face when he recognized her for who she was. He was quite startled to find her in the garb of a serving wench at the service entrance of The Tall Tale Tavern. She thought he might just drop the keg he held. But after a speedy and discreet transaction, she was on her way back home with another flagon of wine—and an expensive one at that.

  She made her way to the rear entrance in the alley, steeped into the shadows and entered the house once more, as she had done so hundreds of times. The sun was waning, settling into the horizon in the west and Rose was both famished and tired. It would do her some good to relax in her own home, alone with a bottle of fine wine and a leg of mutton she’d bought from the dwarven tavern owner. She smiled thinking how good a friend Melin and his family had been to her over the years and took a swig of wine.

  She abruptly had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched…or that someone had been in her room. It was impossible, though. Everything was exactly where she’d left it. Even the piece of thin wire she’d placed across the door opening at the top of the back entrance was still set in place. And anyone that would come through the front door would be lying in a pool of blood from the two crossbows, one on either side of the door, attached to thin line on the handle. And the windows were still nailed shut.

  She placed the bag down on the counter, disrobed and scanned her bare flesh in a mirror. She was happy to be somewhat clean and if she remained in town long enough, would make it a priority to bathe properly. She gave careful consideration as to how relaxing the warm water of a bath would feel on her abused and aching flesh, but first, she wanted to taste the wine on her lips.

  Melin had offered her a rather fine bottle. She had been going to save it for last, but decided to drink it first. She could always drink the cheaper stuff later, after the good wine was a lasting memory on her tongue.

  Rose awoke some time later to the sound of a bell tolling in the distance and to find that the light of day had been replaced by darkness.

  She lay on her sofa, her robe disheveled and barely covering her body at all. She fought through her grogginess, grabbed the bottle on her end table and took a swig.

  Empty.

  She stumbled into the pantry and retrieved the second bottle of wine, removing the cork and taking a swig.

  She gagged as she made her way back to the sofa, plopping herself down as the room spun around her. She was drunk, she knew. She tried to lie down, but the room would not remain still, even when she closed her eyes and clutched at the sofa.

  She sat up quickly and immediately felt the bile in her throat as she raced for the sink. She heaved for a few moments into the basin and when it was over, wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her robe. Eventually, she staggered over to the sofa once more and passed out.

  Earlier in the day, he found himself at a rather unremarkable and rat-infested inn he’d stumbled upon on the outskirts of the Entertainment District known as The Duelist. It was where all manner of rubbish, beggars and thieves made their home.

  Amtusk had spent the entire duration of the day yesterday inquiring with locals, tavern-goers and innkeepers about his mother until he got his answer. He had parted with many a coin along the way and found his purse near to empty.

  He was born of half-orc blood, and because of that orc blood, no one really bothered him. After a meal, he finally tracked down one elderly wretch of a man, long of hair and with several days’ stubble upon his unclean face. He’d retrieved some relevant information from the man who, after downing several pitchers of ale on Amtusk’s tab, informed him that he’d been his mother’s neighbor for decades. He described her well enough at least and informed him that she’d lived in the Commons and that he hadn’t seen her in years as he had since moved. He told him of the exact street and number of the house where she’d lived and staggered out the doors.

  Amtusk spent the night at The Duelist and made his way to the Commons at first light. The streets were damp with hints of rain when he exited the inn that morn and there was the distinct aroma of moisture in the air.

  Amtusk now stood before a mundane and ordinary home which he hoped still belonged to his mother.

  It was a long shot that she would be still alive and living in the same house, but he needed to know. He rubbed the blackened metal chain of the shadowsteel shirt beneath his leather jerkin with a profound nervousness as he approached the dilapidated structure. The color of the house displayed dull greys and browns that reminded him of rusted iron. It looked as if the original color had been stripped away. The houses in the Commons were so close together that he had to double check the numbers to make sure.

  Yes, he thought, the drunkard claimed it to be twenty and three on the Street of Jackals. He looked around, gazed upon the sign at the top of the street and nodded.

  He rapped upon the wooden surface of the door and waited. There was no answer.

  Perhaps she was not awake, he thought, as he moved nervously away from the house. He faintly recognized it, too, but he’d been extremely young when he left home…and foolish at that. His memories were fleeting of that time in his life.

  He walked around the back of the house and saw nothing there either. As he passed by the neighboring home, the sun shone brightly into the window and he happened to see through the pane of glass clearly, as if it had not even been there. Lying on the sofa was a woman with a shock of auburn hair upon her head that he believed could be his mother. Maybe the drunkard told him the wrong house number after all.

  His heart beat in anticipation. It was then that he realized that she would be at least sixty years of age at the least and supposed that she would have hair of grey by now. He neared the window and peered in, catching a more detailed glimpse of the woman.

  Rose?!

  And he swore he saw a figure emerging from the very shadows themselves, unless his eyes were playing tricks on him.

  He immediately removed his axe and shield and made for her front door and reached for the handle. As he pulled the door open, he was greeted by two bolts that met with the cold steel of his shield as he turned them away. He was relieved that he had made the choice to strap on his shield just then, as he rushed into the room and saw something in the shadows. It was a figure slight of build with eyes of emotionless violet staring down at her. As soon as he rushed inside, those same eyes regarded him.

  “How unfortunate for you to have intruded upon this,” whispered a voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

  “I might say the same for you,” he replied, peering down at the woman lying helplessly on the sofa before him. It was most definitely Rose, he confirmed.

  The woman did not react to either the sounds within, or the plentiful amount of sunlight that spilled in from the open threshold behind him.

  “I’m not quite sure who you are or what you are doing here, orc, but you have made a mistake in coming here. One that shall prove fatal,” threatened the voice again. And with it, the cloaked figure seemed to become one with the shadows, disappearing within their heavy mantle.

  Amtusk rushed to Rose and felt for a pulse on her neck. It was feint but certainly there and, he noted, caked with dried vomit.

  He guessed that she was either drugged or drunk and he wondered anxiously what had happened.

  But before he could do anything else, the assassin resurfaced. Stepping directly out of a shadow that could not possibly contain him, the assassin whipped his arm across his body toward Amtusk as if to slash at him with the edge of his hand. The half-orc could not believe his eyes when a solid blade of shadow extended from that hand, striking his raised shield
and, to Amtusk’s surprise, slicing partially through it.

  “What manner of sorcery is this?!”

  “It is no sorcery, I assure you,” stated the assassin, swinging his peculiar shadow blades, one on each hand.

  Another combination of attacks came at Amtusk, and this time he parried with his shadowsteel axe. As the ebonite-hewn steel collided with the shadow weapon, it met solidly and held fast.

  The assassin’s violet eyes showed a hint of surprise and Amtusk, too, was happily startled by the turn of events. He kicked out, catching his slender and agile attacker in the chest, shoving him over the arm of the sofa, but before he hit the ground, he seemed to melt into the shadows.

  Amtusk glanced about frantically, noting that Rose still lay unmoving.

  He whirled about, looking for the assassin to present himself once more. Moments passed and Amtusk heard the distinct sounds of footsteps approaching from the streets. He quickly peered out a window to see who it was.

  It was an elf—an elf that he recognized, along with a barbarian woman. They were part of the group that invaded Hollow Hill and Heartwood Valley. They were approaching the house in unison.

  “I will deal with her—and you—soon enough,” whispered the chilling voice. “I will see your orc blood drain slowly from your body. Sleep with one eye open.” And with that threat, the assassin faded into nothingness.

  It was then that the elf and the barbarian woman arrived at the threshold and Amtusk found himself behind the couch, Rose’s unconscious body between them.

  “By the gods…what have you done?!” called the barbarian, removing a greatsword from a scabbard on her back and making to charge him when the elf grabbed her by the arm.

  “Wait,” he advised, nodding toward Rose and leaning in to whisper to her, but Amtusk heard it clearly. “He may harm her if we approach.”

  “It is not what it seems, elf,” he said, his arms spread wide and empty. “I am not here to harm the girl. I give you my word.”

  “Your word holds no value, sellsword!” proclaimed the barbarian woman, clenching her jaw as veins began to pop from beneath the skin of her massive arms. He knew if they fought, it would only end in at least one ill-timed death. There was only one way to prove his point.

  “If you do not believe me, then kill me here where I stand.”

  “What happened here, orc?” asked the elf, stepping closer to Rose.

  “I happened upon her by luck. There was an assassin here, covered in shadow and forming weapons from the very darkness…sorcery of some kind,” he assumed, pulling on a strand of his goatee. ”When I arrived, he stood over her, meaning to kill her, no doubt, when I happened upon him.”

  “You expect me to belie—”

  “We have no reason to believe him deceitful in this setting,” interjected the barbarian, perhaps trusting the story.

  “What is your name, barbarian? I recognize the marks upon your arms as battle achievements, but I do not recognize your tribe.”

  “You are barbarian?!”

  “No, I have merely associated with many of your kind.”

  “My name is Saeunn.”

  “Of what clan?”

  “I am Chanusk. My family was driven from their homes and slain by goblinoid clans,” she spat in an accusatory tone.

  “I am truly sorry for your loss. I am sure that in the coming years, you shall make many of them pay for their misguided choices,” Amtusk said with complete confidence.

  “I have already begun,” the barbarian woman said with narrow eyes.

  “Not all goblinoids are your enemy, just as I have come to learn that all intelligent races should be judged as individuals.” Amtusk retrieved his shield from where he laid it against the sofa, and moved away from Rose another step. “And what of you, elf?”

  “His name is Elec,” Saeunn offered.

  “Elec, then. We have met before,” Amtusk mentioned. “Perhaps we should begin again?”

  “If you are who you say you are, then please take your leave so that we may tend to our friend,” Elec instructed, looking toward the woman on the sofa. Saeunn nodded as if agreeing with the elf and then looked to Amtusk, gesturing toward the door with her blade extended.

  Amtusk made his way out onto the street once more, not wanting to pursue whether or not his mother yet lived next door or not. As he made his way toward the Entertainment District, he had a strange feeling that he was being watched, though he saw nothing or no one.

  “One eye open, indeed,” he muttered to himself.

  CHAPTER 25

  Phaera Sine made her way out of the room and toward the antechamber, and then into the expansive throne room. This was where she was instructed to be, as told by one of the bizarre, hooded servants that Zabalas had do his bidding. They were tiny, hunched things in brown robes with faces hidden always in shadow.

  She and the others had been present within the Bastion of Skulls for a day and half another, waiting for him to return from wherever it was he’d gone.

  “We have the phylactery, my lord,” bowed Phaera deeply, arms outstretched and holding the amulet forthright in her outstretched palms.

  Zabalas said nothing, removed his helm from his head and came forward to grasp the artifact he’d so desperately sought, lifting it between thumb and forefinger, allowing it to dangle on the chain.

  “At long last,” he declared, accepting the item offered by the succubus. “You have done well,” Zabalas congratulated, examining the item closely. “Very well.”

  “There is a presence within.”

  “On that I am counting,” Zabalas said with a malicious grin.

  “How long will it take before your…guest… is able to make use of it?” Phaera asked, her amber eyes glimmering with curiosity. There was much she did not know about it and she was very intrigued.

  “I do not know,” Zabalas admitted. “But as plans have come together, we have plenty of time to allow for Sadreth’s recovery.”

  “What plans have come together, my lord?” asked a voice from the shadows of the room. A slagfell with a staff came into view, bowing deeply to Zabalas. He lowered his hood to reveal a tattooed neck and hairless face and head.

  “Ah, Dainn, I have something for you,” Zabalas remarked as he removed a pouch from his belt and handed it to the slagfell Wayfarer.

  “Dragon’s blood?!” Dainn announced as he peered into the bag and removed one flask, of which several more were present within, and holding it so that the torchlight behind him would reveal the contents more clearly.

  “Indeed,” Zabalas said with a forbidding smile. “Enough to trace a hundred and more runic rings!”

  “Indeed, my lord!” he exclaimed. “I…I am sorry that I doubted—”

  “You shall come to learn that you should never doubt me, Wayfarer,” Zabalas declared as he placed the amulet safely into a pouch at the front of his belt. Megnus and the djinni both emerged from the antechamber adjacent to the throne room and approached in silence. Prishnack was corporeal and drifted along the ground, his features and their accompanying details were hidden deeply within shadow.

  “What of my mother and the Sine brood?” Phaera asked, licking her red lips and raising an eyebrow.

  “I met with your mother, Phaera, and she has agreed to my terms,” he revealed as he paced out of the throne room and into the corridors beyond. The ensemble following closely behind him as their footfalls reverberated loudly off the walls. “It is why I was delayed in returning.”

  “Where is she?” Phaera asked, looking around, expecting to see her mother and sisters emerge from the shadows at any moment.

  “I arrived in Ulthon a few days after securing the dragon blood. I was greeted by the sounds of an argument when I entered your city,” he explained as they continued their journey through the castle. “There was a gathering at the center of the town. Your mother was defending herself against her rival, Risa, claiming that she had something to do with the death of one of her daughters.”

 
; A smug look crossed Zabalas’s features just then as the others collectively remembered the scene outside Shadowmere, where Zabalas slew one of Risa Cheronea’s brood. Zabalas had cleaved her head from her body and directed her sibling to return to Ulthon with news that all should obey the word of Nahemia Sine.

  “When I arrived, I was informed by the Sine brood that the confrontation was not to be interrupted as this is customary of the succubi,” he added, drawing a nod and a raised eyebrow from Phaera.

  “I allowed the argument to continue and it quickly escalated into a physical confrontation between the two Aspects. Neither of the succubus demons could gain the upper hand as they exchanged clawed strikes for several minutes until it escalated once more into swordplay. The mindless thralls and broods of every enclave stood and watched the spectacle,” Zabalas explained as they turned a corner and closed in on the double doors that lead into his own private quarters.

  “As sound of steel on steel echoed throughout the empty space, I intruded upon the fight and insisted they stop, informing them that I had a solution to their problem. As the crowd parted, I offered Risa the undisputed rule of Ulthon,” Zabalas stated, drawing a curious gaze from Phaera. The group stopped before the iron doors of Zabalas’s room as he continued his story, turning to face them.

  “Nahemia was not pleased until I explained to her that she would be given the rulership of much more than Ulthon…if she served me. I offered her dominion over anything she desired, for as far as the eye could see—as you all shall have, too. You see, I shall rule all, be it above or below ground, and soon enough,” he proclaimed vehemently with a shove, his doors parting wide.