The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (111 page)

“What happened here?” asked Triniach. He stood leaning on his staff and waited for the dwarf to speak.

“I be passin’ through is all. I be on a patronage, goin’ wherever me god wants me ta be goin’. He sees all and I be his humble servant. I happened about this town and took a rest fer me weary feet,” Morgrim explained as Figit and the Triniach listened.

He glanced over and watched as Twarda was discussing things with what looked to be the innkeeper and perhaps another town official.

“These cultists o’ the dragons came runnin’ over the town, sayin’ they gotta’ make sacrifices ta show they be good an’ loyal servants,” Morgrim started in again, finally dismissing his shield and moving away from the wall. “They be speakin’ nonsense and whatnot. I don’t pretend ta be knowin’ what they’re sayin’ or why.”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Triniach stated, plopping into a chair as Jon and Azbiel returned with the two girls, both of them healed and fully recovered physically from their ordeal.

“I’d conserve your strength and healing powers, Jon. We will be needing them soon, I fear.”

“What are you talking about, old man?” Figit finally blurted. The mage had been hinting around cryptically like he knew something but did not share it with the rest of them. “What is it that you’re not sayin’?”

“The dragons have woken. Something in my divinations recently I found disturbing and this settles it. The scorching drakes are coming,” he peered outside and noted the darkness that had dropped over the land and yet the heat continued to swell. “That is why it is so hot. I would suggest that we all get some sleep, for tomorrow should bring some answers. Amongst other things.”

“You mean them red scaled dragons?” Azbiel asked, sipping from a wineskin.

“Aye. Scorching drakes. That is what the scholars refer to them as. And yes, they are fire-breathing dragons one might say, with scales of red to orange tones. Call them what you wish, mage. They are coming.”

With that, there were murmurs in the bar and the group of fisherman moved outside to remove their boats from the water. Figit and the others watched out the windows as they dragged and carried their boats to their homes, leaving them with three others who remained behind, all females, and the innkeeper.

“Like that’s gonna’ help,” Figit mumbled to himself, wiping sweat from his long, dark hair. He pulled in into a ponytail and frowned at the heat.

“What can I get you?” the innkeeper asked Triniach and the others.  He was a ruggedly handsome man with the shadow of a beard threatening to sprout forth from his dark face. He was well built and may have worn steel on his chest at one point or another, mused the halfling, understanding his gait and mannerisms as that of someone who could handle themselves in a fight. “It’s all on my tab. You people saved our lives.”

“Well, I’ll have another,” Azbiel said, sitting and throwing his feet up onto the table and crossing his feet, one over the other. He placed his hands behind his head and looked quite comfortable, despite the situation and recent news.

“Do you not care, brother?” Jon asked him.

“Ain’t much I can do about it, right? Might as well enjoy the night! Barkeep, do you have any…company I might be able to secure? I’ve got quite a bit of gold coin that I am willing to part with,” he said with a laugh.

“None you can buy, my lord. This isn’t that kind of town. Apologies.”  He said, wiping the counter. But, just as he finished the sentence, the two ladies whose lives they saved, came up to him and whispered something in his ear.

“Well, I’ll be seein’ you all in the mornin’. Barkeep, your finest room, then.” The barkeep tossed him a key and looked down on the table. There was thirty gold coins; enough to almost buy his entire stock of liquor
and
a room for a month!

“Now rooms I got plenty of,” he added, scooping up the gold. Figit shook his head laughing at his old friend.

“I be makin’ my way ta me room, too. I got a lot ta be prayin’ about this night,” stated the dwarf priest as he made his way up the steps after Azbiel. Twarda and Jon each purchased rooms and disappeared up the stairs, paying heed to the advice of the mage. Triniach placed a few gold coins on the counter, too.

“I’ll take whatever you have leftover.” Figit watched the mage closely, his demeanor never changing, even in the direst of circumstances. He admired him for that!

He watched as many of the townsfolk—quite possibly
all
of them— made their way back inside the inn and began to partake of the rum, wines and various ales, talking about the dragons, the cultists and kobolds. And about the strangers that came to their town today.

Figit overheard and chuckled a bit, never being too fond of attention or praise.
“So, what do you really think is going to happen?” A serving girl, freshly arrived and throwing on an apron, brought them both over a pitcher of wine with two mugs. She filled them as they continued speaking.

“I told you what I think is going to happen,” Triniach stated clearly, sipping a bit of wine from his mug as the girl offered them menus. They both shook their head and waved the girl away. Then Figit called her back and handed her a gold coin.

“I’ll take a room, too,” he told her and then turned back to face the mage.

“How do you know they are coming?” he asked, leaning in close to the wizard and staring into his blue eyes as if searching for something.

“I don’t know for certain. But, it does seem to add up. Either way, I’d be prepared for a…unusual day.”

“I didn’t want to say before,” Figit began, pulling out a pipe and lighting it. He took a drag and crossed his feet on top of the adjacent and empty chair before he continued. “But, I heard one of the cultists mention the name Ashenclaw. Does that mean anything to you, old man?”

It does. She is the legendary Queen of the Scorching Drakes, lad. Just a rumor, though,” he added with a wink. “None have ever laid eyes upon this queen and likely if they did, they are no longer alive to boast about it.”

Figit got up from the table and stared at the elderly mage as he sipped thoughtfully on his wine. The girl came back over to them and handed the halfling a key. He stared at it and then back to Triniach. He made his way to his own room and prepared himself for bed. As he lay on the uncomfortable canvas mattress, he considered that perhaps the mage was losing his mind. As he closed his eyes, his smile at that thought turned to a frown and his sleep was restless as he imagined the terror that might lurk out there in the skies.

“Wake up!” Figit heard from behind his closed door. He leaped from his bed, flung open the door and looked outside. He ran down the stairs to join Jon, Twarda, Triniach and Azbiel around the innkeeper.

“A message from out of town. The dragons have been spotted; it’s true,” he said with a gulp and a look upon his face that seemed as if he were about to cry.

“Where?” Triniach asked.

“
Everywhere
,” he said as he bowed his head in defeat. “The scorching drakes are burning Wothlondia to the ground.”

"It is worse than I thought," Triniach stated, clutching his staff and moving toward the door. "We need to move quickly. Get yourselves geared and ready now and be prepared for the fight of your lives."

Figit looked at him and nodded, moving to retrieve his equipment from his room. He saw Twarda and Jon doing the same. The two sorcerers were already equipped and ready to leave, their small rucksacks strapped to their backs and Triniach’s staff clutched in his hands.

Once Figit was alone in his room, he quickly dressed himself and then strapped on his belt and scabbards. He then began placing weighted throwing knives within pockets on his leather jerkin and britches, as well as inside the cuffs of his boots. He ran down the steps and gathered with the rest of the group already outside. All of them were present, including the priest, Morgrim who they'd met last eve. They were all congregating around Triniach, and the few villagers that were gathered around, listened as he addressed them.

"We have a battle on the horizon. And none like you've ever fought before. We fight for the very lives of everyone on the face of Wothlondia. The drakes are coming and we must stop them," he said leaning upon his staff. "The beasts will be plentiful and merciless and we must be strong in fighting them. We must make our way northwest and out of the town here to face them on open ground, away from civilizations. We will need to draw them out of the sky,” he said, lifting his staff into the air as he spoke and pointing to the clouds above.

“Arm yourselves with bow and arrow to draw them and then slay them once they set foot upon our soil. They have weak underbellies making excellent targets, but their outer shell is twice as tough as any steel you’ve felt before. Any questions?"

Azbiel started to say something and then paused as if truly comprehending the severity of the situation. Then he added, "I'll bring em down and you gut 'em." He stared at Figit, then Twarda and finally, Jon. "Hit 'em hard and make it count when you do." Triniach nodded in agreement of the sentiment.

"And so, let us begin the fight of our lives," Triniach stated as they began their journey north.

"What shall we do, me' lord?" called a villager from behind them. Figit and the rest of them all looked to Triniach who pursed his lips and shook his head.

"Pray ta' whate'er gods ye worship," Morgrim called from behind them all before turning away from the frightened man and continuing on his path. Triniach merely nodded, agreeing with the dwarf.

“That’s as good a counsel as we can offer.”

Hours passed and the heat progressed. The ground was hazy with the sheer intensity of the heat. Figit wiped sweat from his brow and face and stared up at the sky.

That was when he saw them.

"Trin," he said, tugging on the wizard's robe at his side. That's a lot of dragons." Figit pointed toward the skyline. What could be seen filling the skyline was a wall of scales, teeth, claws and leathery wings. They flew as if birds did in a flock, and then separated briefly before returning to their formations.

Morgrim was mumbling to himself.  A prayer no doubt, the halfling assumed, as suddenly, a shimmering glow of an amber hue washed over him and the others. It was similar to the one the priest had worn on his person when Figit first saw him yesterday at the Summerbank Inn.