The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (116 page)

When the flash cleared, there was a figure bathed in light, floating to the ground and the drake lay dead beneath it.

 The figure rushed toward them, covering the ground quicker than any he’d ever seen, and began smashing his fists and feet into the belly of the beast. He stood right next to where Figit stood, planting his own daggers into the scaled armor wherever he could find an opening.  He looked queerly at this new player to the game, but thanked whatever gods there were that he came to their aid.

Barnabus was obviously on the other side of the drake’s huge frame, continuing to release his own brand of carnage, and holding the drake’s attention.

"Who the frag are you?!" Figit asked loudly, having to yell it over the echoes of battle.

"I am Serifel, stranger.  I am a monk of the Temple of the White Star. And I have come to support the people of Wothlondia in their fight against the dragon scourge. My people are all dead and I have a prophecy to fulfill."

“I hope that prophecy includes us kicking some scorching drake a—“

The rest of Figit’s question was lost beneath the thunderous cacophony of Serifel’s combination of punches and kicks. They were struck with such force, that the drake’s attention focused on the monk. It whipped its head about to face them and swung a clawed appendage at both Serifel and Figit, who simultaneously tumbled backward and out of harm’s way. The distraction provided by Serifel was a fatal mistake to the beast as it suddenly keeled over, another victim of the menacing double-bladed axe of Barnabus. He came into view from behind its carcass, his teeth flashing for just a second from beneath his dark beard, indicating to Figit that he’d just smiled.

As they got to their feet, both he and the monk watched in helpless horror as the rugged dwarven paladin, Coles, on the far side of the ruins, was in the mouth of one of the drakes. He was jabbing the handle of his maul, punching and kicking, trying desperately to stave off the inevitable.

Seconds later, the dwarf disappeared, swallowed by the enormous, terrifying drake. They’d just lost an ally.

Figit’s heart sank at that realization.

He turned to spot another of the dragons land directly in front of where the priest Morgrim was, obviously not comprehending the danger he was in, as his attention was on the creatures in the skyline.

An eruption of flames ensued and when it cleared, Morgrim was no more.

Just like that, two of them were gone and Figit’s heart sank a little more.

Triniach joined Azbiel and floated next to the clearly exhausted sorcerer. The blizzard must have been taxing for him, he considered, knowing the drain that spells took on the body and mind, let alone one that required a level of concentration to maintain.

"I say we turn the fury of a thunderstorm on these damned drakes!" he yelled.

"Let's knock 'em dead,” Azbiel agreed through a forced smile and a nod.

With that, the two of them summoned clouds of thunder over the battlefield as the drakes continued to accumulate under the night sky. Dawn was approaching, but with the crack of lightning now originating from the clouds and from the two mages, the night sky lit up as if the sun shone bright as day.

Drake after drake fell until Triniach caught one coming out of the corner of his eye. He watched in horror as a torrent of flaming breath spat forth, catching Azbiel in its midst. He couldn’t tell if his Sphere of Protection was still surrounding him or not. The mage plummeted toward the lake far below encased within a raging inferno.

Triniach turned his ire upon the drake and shot bolt after bolt into the creature. Lighting originated from both the clouds above and from his own body, pelting the drake with lightning as it screeched and made its way toward him. He absorbed another wave of fiery breath, continuing to bombard the drake with bolts of lightning. As the drake neared him, it slowed in midair until it, too, fell into the water.

Figit stood with his mouth agape beside the monk, still attempting to comprehend what had just happened. He had no time to consider the true horror of the last moment as another two drakes landed in the wreckage of Shalratha.

He was completely devastated by the fact that Coles was dead, swallowed whole by one of the drakes, and wondered about Morgrim, too. He stole a glance across the battlefield and witnessed a burst of light in the distance. Then he saw the little dwarf casting spells once more and that brought him a sense of relief. 

Jon and Twarda maneuvered toward the first drake that landed just as Serifel launched himself toward the second one at blazing speed, hurling himself through the air. It was an amazing sight for the little halfling to see the monk in action.

A third drake landed again in the ruins and Barnabus was off and charging it. The beast paid him no heed however. Instead, it raised its head and launched a torrent of flame toward Figit. He realized immediately that there was no way that he could escape its blast. He closed his eyes and shuddered.

Nothing happened.

He opened his eyes and saw a bubble of radiant energy around him. Beulah stood smiling at Figit and gave him a wink. He laughed heartily at her and thanked the gods he saved her earlier. At least now they were even.

Barnabus disappeared beneath the shadow of the drake and Figit caught glints of the steel double axe head swinging over and over again in the approaching sunlight.

Twarda and Jon were laying waste to the drake before them, now hidden deep within the shadows of the ruins. He could barely see them, but overheard the grunts and sounds associated with Twarda's fighting and he saw Jon Veinslay briefly as he summoned holy vengeance upon the drake.

Another two drakes made effort to land but were sent skyward once more as Sinadow continued to fire magical bolts of energy, denying the drakes any ground upon which to land. He seemed to be relentless in his assault, never tiring, and he witnessed the elf’s spectral cat sitting on her haunches loyally beside the archer.

It was then that Figit spotted a plentiful volley of arrows invading the skyline, originating from the opposite side of the ruins. Sinadow looked to Figit and waved from across the battlefield, indicating that help had arrived. It was his elven kin, the elves of Amrel, coming to their aid!

Figit nodded and breathed a sigh of hopeful relief. They needed support now more than ever because as the sky brimmed with sunlight, Figit could scarcely perceive the blue behind the scaly red that dominated the space.

He climbed atop a ruined structure quite easily, its jagged surfaces giving him ample handholds, and he watched, waiting for a chance to leap atop a drake if his companions managed to direct one toward him.

He glanced all around and his eyes widened as he saw Serifel the monk hovering in midair, striking one drake with foot and fist, faster than the eye could follow. The beast never had a chance as it feebly attempted to strike him with both claw and fire, but was unable to penetrate a globe of solid energy that surrounded him. Figit could not even follow the strikes as it became a blur of motion. The monk suddenly stopped and placed his hands together as a blast of thunderous force burst forth from him. It blasted the drake full in its head and chest, dropping it to the ground, a now-lifeless husk. The monk floated slowly to the ground, still encased in the bubble, until he landed and it vanished. Serifel rushed off again to no doubt lend aid to the others.

Jon and Twarda, whom he could see clearly from his vantage point, had reduced one drake to a bloodstained cadaver as they moved to engage another.

The battlefield was crimson everywhere he looked, smeared with both blood and scales. It was a gruesome sight as the lifeless drakes melded with the ruined edifices that lay in pieces all around, making it seem like some kind of preposterous landscape born of nightmares.

Drakes were falling in droves and Figit’s heart sang with elation, believing that they were making progress...or so he hoped.

 It was then that another stranger entered the battlefield. Figit turned to regard an ominously dressed figure in flowing robes of black.

It was a man he believed, based on the fact that he was bald and a long scruff of hair hung loosely from his chin that looked to disappear into the darkness of his mantle.

He also noted that either the man was extremely thick beneath his robes or he bore a layer of dense armor beneath his outer garments.

It was then that he donned a helm that resembled a skull and as the wind blew aside his robe, Figit could see the thick frame of what could only be armor in the shade of black.

He wondered just then if things got better or worse.

Triniach watched as the dead drake splashed into the Shimmering Lake below and he gritted his teeth. He paid no heed to the clouds above him as they recurrently sent bolts of lightning at whatever drake passed beneath them.

Another advanced his way and then another. They seemed as though they were biding their time for some reason, he supposed, only attacking a few at a time. It was an observation that he could not ignore, yet which he had no time to give much thought. A third and then a fourth of the giant wyrms proceeded toward him too and he set his jaw, meaning to avenge the death of his fallen companion and fellow mage.