The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (114 page)

Figit stared heavily into the fire that crackled before him, a pot of boiling fish bits inside that some of them had brought back from the Shimmering Lake earlier. It smelled delicious he thought, rubbing his hands from the aching. Barnabus had set him to work maneuvering inside and out the mechanisms that fired the ballista.

“I can ease yer pains, young halfling,” called a soft voice from behind him. He turned to see Beulah, the dwarf priestess, walking toward him. “Would ye like that?”

“I’m a bit of a healer myself. Us halflings are known to have the ‘gift’, too.”

“I be knowin’ this fer sure. But…why dontcha’ just pacify an elderly dwarf.”

Figit nodded reluctantly and she sat down next to him, smiling and took his hands in hers. His fingers not only ached but were racked with multiple cuts and bruises from the days’ toils.

He hands glowed as she spoke a prayer to The Shimmering One. He wasn’t sure how, but he felt a sense of peace, too, that he’d never felt with any other priest before. It was odd. He’d been healed by divine magic before on numerous occasions but had never felt this feeling before.

“How be that now?”

He looked down at his hands and saw nothing. The pain was gone and in its place was a feeling of…nothing.

“Many thanks…?” he gestured to her and then flexed his fingers over and over again, shaking his head at the relief.

“Beulah,” she said. “My name be Beulah.”

“Beulah, right. Well, thanks.”

“What is yer motivation, Figit?”

“My motivation?” he echoed throwing his hands up in the air. “I met up with Triniach years ago and we formed a band of…well, heroes I guess, that travel around Wothlondia providing aid to the weak or those who can’t help themselves and to seek our own fortunes, so to speak.”

She looked at him and nodded in approval.

“And I’m kind of in it more for the coin, the recognition and the ladies,” he winked at her, “No matter the race.”

“Well, I thank ye fer yer honesty, Figit. I be a servant o The Shimmering One and that be all.” She stood abruptly, moving off toward the lake silently.

He stared into the fire and heard a voice from behind him.

“Ya never know when to shut yer mouth, do ya, kid?” Azbiel said with a laugh.

“I kinda’ do.”

Nah, ya don’t. Here, have a swig.” The sorcerer sat next to him on the ground and handed him a wineskin. He took a draw and shook his head, a sour look on his face.

“Frag! Where did ya get that horse piss?!”

“I conjured it. Ya can’t always have the best when you conjure,” he said with a laugh.

“I think ya’d rather go without! That stuff tastes like a monkey’s—“

A roar interrupted the halfling as he was about to finish his thought.

“What the frag?!” Figit stood up and saw the spectral wildcat, Sinadow’s companion.

“He senses something coming,” the elf said, removing his bow and placing in both hands.

The entire camp woke to the sound of the growl. Triniach was already awake. Or still awake, he couldn’t tell which.

“Man the ballista,” the mage instructed him. He was about to protest and then realized it would do little good. He nodded and ran off.

“Ye gonna’ be alright, halfling?” called a gruff voice. He recognized that it could only be Barnabus.

“Well, maybe I could use a hand loading the first shaft?”

“Let’s be gettin’ to it, then!” With that, the two of them rushed off to load the ballista.

Triniach not so much as saw, but felt them coming. Scorching drakes, like all other dragons, radiated an aura of arcane origins that no other creature on Wothlondia was capable of matching.

He cast a spell of light and launched it into the darkness of the night air. After a moment, the sky exploded with light revealing a canopy of scaled drakes littering the darkness. With that, several of them dove toward the source of the light. There were at least ten of them by his count that descended toward the ruined village.

"Prepare yourselves!" Triniach yelled over the sound of beating wings and thunderous roars of the drakes.

The mage immediately levitated into the sky and began to launch volleys of forked lightning, stopping two and then three of the drakes just as quickly, sending them splashing below into the cold waters of the Shimmering Lake. The surface of the still lake steamed and hissed in protest as the bodies of the drakes fell from the sky into the chill waters. Several more of the beasts flew low and began spewing their fiery breath, igniting anything it touched. Within a few moments, the ground was burning and the light from the flames illuminated the battlefield.

Even the surface of the lake burned, looking like some twisted, preposterous dream to the mage. Arrows were flying into the air as Twarda, Jon, Barnabus, Coles and especially Sinadow, were firing them at will. Morgrim and Beulah both were firing beams of radiant light at the drakes if they passed too close to them.

They were all spread out and laying prone, only sitting or getting to one knee to fire their weapons. That was when several more of the drakes swooped down to the ground, landing on the far bank near all but Barnabus, who remained near the ballista still, having helped Figit load a spear and ready the massive artillery weapon.

Triniach looked back and saw that Figit had a missile loaded and decided to put it to use. He cast a spell of flight and took to the air clumsily, trying to recall the intricacies of flight once again. He did not use it often.

A beam of frost emerged from his hands and then another, targeting rather huge drake as he closed on it and immediately changed course back toward the ruined village and the waiting Figit. He gained speed and peeked behind him to the see that the drake pursued him, and it was quickly gaining ground. He waved a hand to Figit and immediately realized the futility of hand signals at this distance, even with the fey blood of the halfling aiding his vision.

As he neared the ground, his thoughts found purchase on another idea instead. He mouthed another spell and sent a mental message to the halfling—“Just fire the thing when it’s in your sights. You'll have to trust me on this." Then he closed the mental connection to Figit, not having the time to explain himself to him.

He felt the heat of yet another fiery discharge from the pursuing drake. This time, his robe was set ablaze and his concentration waned. He lost control of his flight spell, no longer able to maintain it, as he saw the spear coming toward him at terrifying speed. He mouthed a spell that caused his physical form to become incorporeal and he plummeted to the lake below, his robes reduced to ash around him.

As he hit the water, he turned corporeal and his staff was ripped from his hands by the force of the submersion.

He sank far into the cold waters, turned around and swam toward the surface. The cool water was a relief on his singed skin. Almost a full minute passed as he swam toward the surface and his lungs were close to bursting. When he finally broke the shallow of the water, he gasped for breath.

He emerged from the lake bed in the nude and retrieved his staff that was floating lightly at the lake’s edge. As soon as he was free of the water, he summoned a simple spell that replaced his robes with an exact replica of the one that had just been burnt to ashes. It was an imitation after all, and he was not happy that his extremely expensive robes were gone. The reproduction felt nothing like the exquisite masterpiece wrought of Veldennian silk. It saddened him greatly that he would perhaps never feel that silk against his frame ever again.

Triniach levitated high into the sky once again. As he hovered in the air, he witnessed the carcass of the enormous drake and thanked the gods that he was no longer the target of its ire. The spear had pierced its eye and gone straight through its skull, protruding out the back.

From the air, he was able to see across the battlefield to the far side of the ruins where four drakes currently squared off with the melee combatants. He could see Twarda whipping her axe head through the air, tearing scaled flesh from the body of one drake, its lifeblood spewing forth. It managed a deathblow that sent the dwarven woman flying backward through the air, but she managed to get her shield up to absorb the brunt of the impact. It was a devastating blow nonetheless. Morgrim immediately rushed to her aid.

Jon, Cole and even the spectral cat of Sinadow, Aimee, were all engaged with one drake and faring well in their own ways. The two paladins had divine shields around themselves, their sword and hammer navigating the space to administer righteous punishment of their respective gods to their enemies. The cat was hitting and rending scaled flesh with its claws and then darting away before the drake could adjust. At one point Triniach thought the beast dead, caught beneath a heavy swipe of a claw, but saw it pass right through.

Sinadow and Beulah were still focusing their fire skyward to keep other drakes at bay, though they were losing that battle slowly. Triniach began to move forward, still hovering in the air, to lend some aid just as he caught sight of Barnabus beneath him rumbling headlong at full speed toward the quarrel.

"I'm puttin' me axe ta good use, mage! No more loadin' spears!"

 He could see that Figit was still manning the ballista, another spear loaded into its flight groove, and the mage smiled wide at the dwarf's enthusiasm and apparent bloodlust. He watched as the dwarf’s mighty greataxe went to immediate work, slashing up, down, left and right and everywhere in between.

Barnabus reduced the drake that Aimee had been toying with to draconic ruin in less than a moment's time.

Triniach surveyed the scene around him and saw that Morgrim was tending to Twarda’s injuries, though he was chasing after her in order to do so, casting prayers of healing upon her as she ran.

Where is Azbiel?
he thought.

He peered about, moving ever higher and well above the ground, and willing his eyesight akin that of an owl's. That was when he noted that on the far side of the lake, barely perceptible to him in the distance, was his fellow sorcerer, Azbiel.