The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (102 page)

“I was informed only that there was another demon involved in its recent abduction,” Garius stated. “Though, the source of the information is unreliable at best, yes.”

They were situated inside the main library within the Hall of the High Council which, despite the enormity of the room, felt suddenly small to Garius. There were tomes, books, parchments, scrolls and the like lining the walls and stacked on tables. This was no doubt, where the sages had spent much of their time while they had been in town these last few months.

“Nimaira will begin the ritual. It will take half an hour for her to be ready, so we should gather her Highness now,” Tiyarnon mentioned as he pulled a tome from the shelf and leafed through its contents, “Return to us shortly in Nimaira’s quarters.”

With that, Garius moved to do as he was bid.

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.

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.