The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (109 page)

As the group came rolling up and over the hill, Figit leaped onto Twarda’s back, causing her to stumble forward before her sturdy legs were able to right herself again.

“Watch yerself!” Twarda yelped, regaining her balance quickly. “”I coulda’ fell…and with ye' atop me, too!”

“I’da been fine,” Figit quipped, getting comfortable on her broad shoulders.

“An’ I’da ne’er fell. Yer missin’ me point.”

“It looks like the town has literally doubled in size since the last time we seen it. I’m seein’ maybe two dozen structures now!”

Azbiel laughed heartily while Triniach and Jon strode along quietly. As they made it to the bottom of the hill, Figit noted that something in the town did not seem right.

“Hey, guys,” he announced, leaping from Twarda’s shoulders to land on all fours like a cat. “Somethin’ ain’t right about this. Where are all the people?”

They all looked about and noted that none of the fishermen were on their boats or fishing in the bank and not a soul was outside. It was almost mid-day again and the lack of activity was both telling and disturbing.

“I don’t like it one bit,” Figit declared as he withdrew both of his daggers. The sound of leather on steel sounded again as Jon withdrew his hand and a half sword and Twarda removed her axe from her belt.

“I don’t like this at all,” Figit stated as he slipped down the remainder of the hill and proceeded ahead of the others.

He got up to where he could see things more clearly, his eyesight allowing him to see great distances, another gift of his fey blood. What he saw was distressing. He waved the others to within a few feet of him and told them to wait there at the base of the hill.

“What is it, half-man?” asked Jon.

“Shush,” Figit called back in a whisper. He wanted to whisper back to him that he was no man at all. Instead he was a creature born of fey blood, distant cousin to the elves and that he could tap into the regenerative plane much as a druid would and use the gift to heal; albeit sparingly.

He stole through the village and made it to the far western side of the town. Confirming what he saw, he made his way quickly and quietly back to the group, who awaited him on the shaded side of a storefront.

“What is it!?” asked Azbiel, his arms held out wide before returning to cross over his chest. He yawned and Figit could smell the wine on his breath from where he stood.

Typical Azbiel
, he thought.

“Kobolds. And lots of ‘em! And…they ain’t alone either. There are some crazy robed figures with marks of the dragons on their garments.

“Dragon cultists,” Triniach stated as if everyone should know. “They are amassing here as they sense something, a shift in the weather or some such. I cannot quite put my finger on it just yet.”

“So, they are worshipers of which dragons?” Jon asked. “All of them?”

“I would say. It is a dragon cult. Their symbol is something of a dragon claw. Is that correct, Figit?” Triniach asked.

“A claw of red, one of blue, another of white and a black one, too. All in a circle, or a cross or some proportioned pattern. Can’t really see it too well.”

Triniach waved his hands about and stood silently, the white of his eyes shifted in hue to  yellow, like that of an eagle’s.

“That is it exactly,” the mage announced with confidence.

“If you can do that, then why do ya’ make me—never mind,” Figit said with a sigh and a shake of his head.

“It is to keep your skills intact. You never know when you will need them. Magic does not solve everything,” he stated in a lecturing manner with a sideways glance toward him and then added, “almost. But not quite.”

 “Well, whatever. The four-clawed dragon cultists have taken over the town for whatever reason,” Figit exclaimed, willing his body into the shadows.

 “Then we be needin’ ta’ take ‘er back!” proclaimed the dwarven warrior, tapping her axehead upon her shield three times.

“Let’s gut ‘em and save the day. Like usual,” stated the halfling.

“Nothing like rescuing damsels in distress!” Azbiel proclaimed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

“We are ready then?” inquired Triniach, adjusting his robe.

All of them nodded and Figit stayed to the shadows, moving ever closer to the commotion. After a moment or two, he could hear the words of the cultists.

“We shall make sacrifice for the scorching drakes and so that Ashenclaw will spare us,” he heard one man say.

“The queen of the scorching drakes will let us live if we show her gift,” said one of the dozen kobolds lurking about. A pair of women were both tied to stakes that were planted firmly inside a large amount of tinder. Their clothes were torn and they were bleeding from several wounds already, though none of them looked fatal to the halfling. But, it certainly seemed as though they were going to roast these two ladies alive.

“We need them all to burn,” stated another kobold, confirming Figit's obvious fears.

Figit looked from where they'd come from and, held captive inside the inn that he could see through the window pane, were several more of the villagers bound and gagged. And there were even more of the kobolds in there. 

He hated the little lizard things. Whenever they gathered, there were always too many of them around, he thought with a grimace. 

Lizards!
He thought.
No wonder they worship the damned dragons!

The halfling indicated to the others behind him with a point of his finger. The others seemed to understand and nodded in unison. It looked almost absurd to Figit as he turned and headed forward again, keeping to the shadows of the buildings. As he closed in on them, he signaled to the sorcerers and that’s when all Pandemonium seemed to break loose upon them.

A hail of forked lightning shot forth from Triniach’s hands, striking kobold after kobold until three, then four and five of them fell with each bolt. Azbiel had called in an obscuring haze from above that rolled over the inn behind them and enshrouded the whole building in gloom so that they could not see out the windows. Then he began another spell as Jon and Twarda charged the cultists and kobolds combined, the forked lightning deftly missing them.

Figit saw a cultist move behind the bound humans on the stakes as he produced a flint stone, obviously trying to get the flames going. He struck it against the steel of his dagger multiple times as Figit went to work.

Before the cultist knew it, he was bleeding from several wounds in his lower back and legs. He looked queerly at Figit who giggled at that expression. He’d seen it so many times.

It was funny to him because he coated his blades with a numbing poison that was so strong, it reacted just as the blade entered and so oft times; the victim felt nothing but a slight pinch when his blades entered their flesh.

But, the cultist did manage to successfully produce a spark when he struck the flint with his blade before Figit could stop him. He tumbled backward as the cultist fell into the fire that was just in its beginning stages. Figit also noted that there was a chemical or oil that was administered to the kindling which was why it ignited so easily. He did not see it before as it was dry and dulled, but he saw it clearly as he caught the reflection in the light of the flames.

The two women screamed and the cultist shrieked from below his masking hood. Figit turned to face a kobold and another was beginning to make his periphery when he saw an axe head bury into its scaled head.

Twarda kicked out, removing the blade from her victim and slashed her axe across another’s throat, but it did not slash. Rather, it tore the kobold’s neck open and its lifeblood spewed forth, staining her armor a rather odd shade of lime green.

It was like they were everywhere! Two more attacked her, one on either side. She smashed her shield into one of them as the thing slammed into it at top speed as the sound of bone breaking could be heard over the roar of lightning bolts to her side. The other one made it past her sloppily made attack and stabbed at her with a short spear. Its thrust made it to her shoulder, which was turned away by the steel of her pauldrons.

She shook her head and backhanded the tiny lizard creature with the handle of her axe before turning and burying it in the creature’s head.

As he fended off the kobold’s predictable attacks, Figit watched Jon hewing several of the cultists down with his blade, a radiant glow coming forth from it and at one point; he thought he saw something in the shape of a hammer slam down atop three opponent’s heads, crushing them into the ground.

Jon rushed into the throng of cultists and kobolds with a sense of anger. He was angry that the rusty-scaled lizard things and the cultists placed the scorching drakes on pedestals like they were the Gods of Order. He was incensed by it all and used that anger to fuel him.

He swiped hard at a kobold, cleaving its head from its tiny body and slammed his shield edge into a cultist’s throat, silencing him forever. He summoned a prayer of holy energy, allowing it to caress his bastard sword, encasing it in white light.