The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (26 page)

As they got to within a hundred paces of the amazing bridge, Tiyarnon stopped and dismounted. From beneath his coat he removed his holy symbol. It was a depiction of a simplistic orb representing the Sun, with waves of sunlight emanating around its entirety in a symmetrical pattern. As he uttered a prayer to The Shimmering One, his eyes lit up with a radiant light. The horses whinnied, and Rolin was almost thrown from his mount as the brightness grew with intensity, but he managed to hold on, his short fingers clamped like a vise around the horse’s reins.

“I’ve been fightin’ to stay on the beast’s back with the wind in me beard for the last ten hours and now yer tryin’ a different method to toss me from its back?” Rolin growled accusingly.

“I am sorry, my friend,” Tiyarnon apologized in response to his oldest companion’s look of disgust. “But I sense other holy symbols of The Shimmering One nearby—perhaps within only a few miles. If we carry on at this pace, we may be able to catch them before they enter the thickest part of the forest of Amrel.”

The three of them understood that the forest was not very dense immediately after crossing into Amrel, but rapidly thickened thereafter. Tiyarnon hoped to catch up with them sooner rather than later.

“That be good news,” Rolin stated. “I’m fer getting’ off this durned beast as soon as I be able!” he added, pulling the reins to redirect the horse east across Nature’s Pass.

Nimaira followed suit as Tiyarnon slowly remounted his horse, a beautiful creature of chestnut hue and one that he had grown attached to over the years. Nimaira noted the effort which the elderly priest exerted in order to climb onto his steed, and speculated if this mission was as foolish as she believed it was. She shook the thought from her mind and continued, following the men with whom she had made a good living and enough fortune with which to begin construction on what was now the University of Wizardry.  Yes, these two had often made unwise choices but, despite that fact, they all three survived.

The companions rode in silence for the next ten minutes and Nimaira continued to feel a strange sense of trepidation that bordered on hopelessness. She noticed that with each trot of her horse’s hooves, the doubt mounted within her.

Why are we even doing this? contemplated Nimaira, her wide blue eyes expanding even further. She spent the next few minutes quelling the emotion inside her and calmed down again.

Rolin Hardbeard trotted along next to his two closest friends. His thoughts suddenly turned inward to his family—his dwarven kin—and he began to give them some consideration, feeling strangely uneasy about having left home those many years ago. He had not seen or heard from them in decades, and now he began to think now of how he had ‘abandoned’ them, as his father and brother often put it, and about how he came to be where he was now.

This series of disconcerting thoughts had come to him as if from nowhere. He felt suddenly panicked and even slightly guilty about these past events. Nimaira and Tiyarnon had told him repeatedly that he left the confines of the Brimstone Mountains with nothing but the best of intentions, but he still felt like he had forsaken his family and kin, and they echoed that sentiment. It had been more than a decade after Ashenclaw had attacked Wothlondia, and was right at the time when the war between the giants and dwarves was nearing its end. Nonetheless, he had intended only to seek to help the people of Wothlondia rebuild, though his kin often misunderstood his leaving as cowardice or even disloyalty. These emotions had not surfaced into the hardened dwarf’s thoughts for decades.

His troubles quickly shifted from the past to the present as his horse once more bucked and threatened to throw him from its back. He steeled his grip on the reins and steadied the beast, then tried to rid his mind of the demons from his bygone days.

Tiyarnon, ignorant of the mindset and doubts mounting within the others, looked skyward, searching for a sign from The Shimmering One that he and his friends had made the correct decision to pursue the young acolytes. He felt confused and second-guessed himself about choosing those apprentices. Momentarily he doubted that they were worthy at all. He wondered if he had made the right choices as his horse trotted after his two friends.

He looked up at the waning sun and shook the feeling away, only to be visited by something new as a heavy sensation of guilt washed over him. Had he let these young priests down? Was The Shimmering One abandoning his hopes and turning his eyes elsewhere? It was a lingering and confusing set of emotions with which the High Priest struggled this late afternoon, and he did not know exactly why it was happening.

None of these human priests of The Shimmering One, nor even the other creature masquerading as one of the holy men, were worthy of carrying him, Cyrza concluded, though he did imagine how savory it would taste to turn them into his master’s playthings. The thought of consuming the one who now carried him, so pure and full of honor, was especially titillating to him. But, alas, it was not to be. He wanted to return to his former host, for this was the will of his lord and master—Sammael. The body of Sadreth was his and he wanted the human back… if human he could still be called, chuckled Cyrza, knowing the answer to that question.

Then Cyrza sensed a familiar presence approaching. He felt nearing the minds and emotions of the three he hated most in all the planes of existence. Oh, how those three had made things hard for him early on. How sweet it would be to own each and every one of them—those who had avoided his temptations and offers for so many years! It was Cyrza’s greatest fantasy to caress their innermost desires and allow them each to tap into that part of their souls. He wanted so badly to tug at their pride as he had done to so many before them… to possess them as easily as he had done their friend, Sadreth.

This was not to be—it was not part of their future, realized Cyrza, as the young acolytes of the accursed Sun God continued their journey, so near as to cross the River Divide at the southernmost bridge within minutes. All of this just so he could be reunited with his former host… how sweet that would be.

Instead of attempting to possess any of the three, Cyrza immediately decided upon another course of action and began to slowly project thoughts of doubt and frustration upon them. It was the simplest of matters for the demon that was trapped within the amulet. He had spent countless years around these three in particular, and had seen their intimate secrets and desires. It was mere child’s play to manipulate them, and this was but the precursor to something more delightful. For Cyrza meant to destroy them once and for all this day. With that thought, he projected once more onto the trio of friends and sent emotions into them that tugged at their deepest conceit.

Their hubris will be the death of them, thought Cyrza from inside the amulet which dangled from the length of chain in the young priest’s hands. A sickening laughter filled that dimensional space within that only Cyrza could hear. It echoed within for a long time.

Tiyarnon looked to his left and saw Nimaira gesturing and speaking ancient words that could only mean a spell was being cast. He immediately spun around, thinking he’d missed an unseen enemy or supernatural beast moving in to attack them. He whirled, head whipping back and forth, but failed to witness a threat of any kind approaching their location. He twirled back to face her again as the spell reached its climax, and he realized uncomfortably that she had locked eyes with him. Hearing a strange sound from above, he looked up in time to see what appeared to be stars raining down, threatening to crush him.

“Wha—“ cried the High Priest attempting to dismount from his steed but falling to the floor instead. He uttered an incantation to his God and discharged a ray of radiant light, ‘Sun’s Rays’ as the spell was called, directing multiple beams into the approaching objects. One by one, the rays of light hit and shattered the huge masses, causing them to break into smaller pieces as they fell to the soil. Tiyarnon breathed a sigh of relief as he regained his footing. He had expended tremendous power to counter that spell and, he realized, he was lucky to be alive. Then he saw that his horse was not as fortunate, as it lay lifeless beneath a huge, stone-like object.

“What manner of behavior is this?!” yelled the elderly priest at the half-elf woman, whose eyes seemed distant at best. Before he could receive an answer, or even pursue a second line of questioning, Tiyarnon felt a strange sensation of irritation flood into his being. How dare she strike at me, he fumed. I am the High Priest of the God of the Sun. The giver of all life. The Shimmering One grants me powers that she can only dream of, Tiyarnon thought. But, before he could act on this new and strange emotional wave, he saw Rolin Hardbeard approach her from the side. Nimaira was so intent and focused on Tiyarnon that she did not see the mighty dwarf. The next thing the High Priest witnessed was the dwarf’s powerful fist connecting with Nimaira’s jaw, all but knocking the woman unconscious.

Rolin stood over the half-elf, breathing heavily and banging a gauntleted fist on his plated breastplate.

“Not such the ‘little one’ now, eh?” Rolin mocked at the top of his lungs, and with such anger that it brought Tiyarnon back to his senses. He clearly felt a moment ago as if he needed to prove something to Nimaira for having attacked him—to make her understand that he was the superior spell-caster. And then he felt it. It was so subtle, but it was certainly there—the presence of the demon creeping ever so sneakily into his consciousness, for he had sensed this before.

Cyrza!

Tiyarnon was gripped by a very real and completely overwhelming fear. They had encountered the demon within the amulet many times. It had attempted to appeal to their pride on numerous occasions, ever endeavoring to attract each and every one of his closest friends into claiming the object for their own. Even when they were aware of its advances, it was difficult to stop them. This was why they had tried so often to warn Sadreth not to use its powers… not to tap into the evil that surely lurked within the artifact. Finally, Tiyarnon steadied himself and his fear was replaced with anger… anger at this demon for once more manipulating his friends—for manipulating him.

Rolin approached Tiyarnon with a determined step and withdrew his great battle-axe. It appeared almost too large in the dwarf’s hands. Surely he would not be able to swing this mighty weapon with ease? But Tiyarnon knew Rolin did not wield this axe with clumsiness. Tiyarnon had seen the dwarf in action for decades and Rolin was a fierce and deadly warrior, never to be underestimated. With this in mind, he gripped his staff firmly and shifted it about in his hands, uttering a prayer to The Shimmering One. Rolin calmly walked toward him, muttering something to himself. As the dwarf got close to within striking distance, Tiyarnon distinctly heard him speak.

“Steel beats magic! I been sayin’ it fer years,” he cried, just as Tiyarnon finished his spell.