The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (29 page)

It had taken them weeks to get here, but her mother made it clear that this was her intended destination and nothing would deter them from it. And so, they had walked and ridden wagons as often as possible to arrive here. The Oakhaven Watch looked at her and her kin in a sad, sympathetic way that angered her.

News had obviously spread around the region that the Chansuk tribe had been unceremoniously overrun by a large contingent of orcs and goblins, with whom a peaceful coexistence was shared until recently.

The savage intensity with which the Chansuk tribe fought was legendary. Therefore the news of their defeat was surprising to the common folk of Wothlondia. According to rumors they’d heard on the road, the goblinoids had caught them unawares. That much was true.

The people of Wothlondia referred to the Chansuk tribe, and any civilization like it, as barbarians. Most ignorant folk used the word in a derogatory sense, especially those who had never witnessed their culture firsthand.

The Chansuk, however, honored the title—barbarian. It symbolized an independent and completely free people when compared to other cultures. Barbarians would rather face death than imprisonment and this was especially so with Saeunn.

A greatsword with many notches along its edge was strapped to her back, a confirmation to all that she did not shy away from conflict. This demeanor was reinforced by her battle scars and proud posture. Numerous tattoos adorned her arms—all signs of glorious feats and achievements within the barbarian culture. Saeunn was seen by most as a capable combatant, but not this day.

Her long blonde hair was tied back in a braided ponytail and a sash sat askew upon her forehead, trying in vain to keep the sweat from her eyes. The fabric hung unkempt, partially covering her large, green eyes that conveyed both disdain for her failures and concern for her mother.

Today was the day they entered Oakhaven to start a new life, her mother had told her. A common laborer, however, was not a station in life that Saeunn would accept. This proposed future did not sit well with the beautiful and stubborn barbarian as she repeatedly denied help from the guards, not letting them assist either her or her mother. She continued on her way, fueled by frustration and anger as members of the crowd aided her kin.

She was a barbarian! She could fend for herself!

Why couldn’t her father have just accepted this and let her fight on the field of battle as he had done!? Then she could have died a glorious death and been seated beside him in the Hall of The Champion. Saeunn scowled and snarled at the crowd to get back as her mother tried to calm her yet again.

Eventually, fatigue set in and she allowed her mother to be taken from her grasp. she slumped to her knees and cried out in frustration. Then she felt her mother’s reassuring and comforting touch on her shoulder, which caused her to relax briefly.

She listened as the guards around them called out for medical aid to any who might be able to provide it. That help came in the form of medicinal herbs and elixirs and prayers of healing from the priests and herbalists that surrounded them.

Saeunn continued to hear many of the townsfolk whispering and eyeing both her and her kin. She repeatedly overheard them talking of the demise of the Chansuk tribe and that this score of women and children were the only survivors. That realization brought her a deep and profound pain as well.

Trying to ignore the whispers from the crowd, they were eventually all escorted to the Remedial District, where priests could offer prayers of healing. They were also told that the Remedial District housed members of the Herbalists’ and Apothecaries’ Guild, who would be actively looking to extend their services, too.

Soon after, Saeunn was given a place to rest in one of the many infirmaries that lined this area. She was tended to by an elderly woman. She introduced herself as an herbalist as she removed Saeunn’s sash and meager armor remains and helped to dress her in a thin, cotton gown. She then started tending to Saeunn’s wounds with herbal remedies.

Saeunn’s tanned body was firm, but scarred in several places, especially on her shapely legs and strong arms. Most of those scars were old, but a few were fresh and needed tending. Saeunn thought the woman kind and she regarded her with respect as the herbalist continued her craft. It reminded her of her shamans. And Saeunn knew that she was only trying to help.

“You may need something more from the priests and physicians here,” the woman informed her as she continued about her business. Saeunn barely nodded her consent before she finally succumbed to exhaustion.

The heavy boots of Garius Forge trampled both soil and grass underfoot as he approached the gates of Oakhaven. His many trinkets and religious icons dangled from his blood-red plate armor which was decorated with many symbols, commendations and the like, cementing his loyalty to the pantheon of righteous gods in their many forms. Such was the way of the Inquisitor.

It was common knowledge throughout the realm as to which symbol belonged to which god, such as The Champion, The Dreamer, The Cherished One, and so on. These were all reflected clearly upon the man’s raiments.

The red of his armor extended from helmet to boots, but was slightly broken up by the accent of black in the form of a cloak on his back. His breastplate was not without definitive features either. The Inquisitors of the Faceless Knights wore a stylized white skull placed directly on the left-side, just around where the heart would be. It was a major contrast to the blood-red of his armor and an unmistakable icon.

The guards seemed to at least recognize that he was a representative of an important establishment as they neared the gate.

“Can I help you?” asked a watchman in a firm but respectful voice.

 Garius was a full head taller than the guard, and his overall presentation clearly conveyed him as a commanding presence.

“We are here at the behest of the High Council of Oakhaven,” Garius replied in a deep, gravelly and imposing voice that seemed to cause the guard to question who exactly was the authority here. The sentry swallowed hard and averted looking into the shadows of Garius’s helm immediately after the Inquisitor spoke.

Garius wore a protective face-plated helmet, which had thin eye slits and a vertical slot running down the center. It concealed his eyes and face for the most part in shadow, the only facial feature that could be distinguished was the raven-black, long, braided beard that stopped just below his chest.

He slowly removed his helm, revealing a pair of deep-set brown eyes and a cleanly shaven head. He bore a faded scar above his left eye that seemed out of place on his otherwise pristine countenance.

 “I carry documents here with the seal of Tiyarnon of the Oakhaven High Council, along with several other council members’ signatures if you would like to see them,” Garius continued. He placed his helmet under the crook of his arm, resting it there, as the guard nodded and accepted the documents.

They both knew it was not necessary for him to provide the documents in order to enter the city, but he figured it might be an easy way to gain a little more respect from the guards and anyone else who came into contact with them. News would certainly travel fast that the Inquisition was in town and Garius didn’t mind if people knew.

The guard inspected the papers for a moment and returned them to Garius with a nod and salute of respect. Just then, two robed figures emerged from the caravan to stand by the Inquisitor’s side. They wore similar regalia, indicating that they, too, were equals of his stature and deserving of similar respect.

“Here for the Days of Holy Enlightenment, too? It starts in but a few morns,” the first sentry asked, as a second watchman now inspected the documents. He nodded to Garius and handed them back.

“It is an honor to have the Faceless Knights of Order represented here in Oakhaven,” said the second guard as he saluted the three Inquisitorial representatives.

“Of course, we would not miss it,” Garius responded to the first guard’s question, keeping his tone level and his eyes on both of them.

Garius waited as the guards called for the gates to be opened. The large crank behind the massive outer wall ground loudly and eventually pulled the heavy iron gates open.

The three men strode into the city proper as the caravan departed into the dust behind them. Oakhaven was one of the few rebuilt and booming capitals in all of Wothlondia. Trade was fast becoming its main staple once more, providing a means for many to earn an honest living. The bustle of the townsfolk was contagious as representatives of each populace, social standing and class intermingled without judgment or discrimination. The patrols of heavily armed guards, renowned for their law-enforcing deeds, helped maintain that pacifistic attitude. The members of the Oakhaven Watch were widely respected for their prowess and their intense training.

A large, circular fountain stood in the center of the main courtyard where several walkways extended off in all directions, leading into each of the districts. Directly behind the statue in the distance, was the Hall of the High Council, with its magnificent architecture and façade proudly displayed.

The main courtyard beyond the Hall was teeming with traders and merchants, and packed with tents and tables. Makeshift stores and kiosks were set up to do business if merchants weren’t given a permanent place in the Trade District. These stalls often spilled out into other districts. This sort of thing was becoming customary in other cities too.

Garius’s bright red armor stood out among the drab tones of the common folk’s clothing. The Inquisitor and his two cohorts proceeded past the bartering businessmen and customers, drawing interested gazes and intent looks, accompanied often by finger pointing and hushed whispers. The three carried on unimpeded to their destination, ignoring the reactions they received.

As they climbed the steps toward the door of the Hall of the High Council, Garius’s two escorts dropped their hoods to reveal the leathered faces of older gentlemen, though they walked with a gait that would suggest otherwise. These men were sages—men filled with many centuries’ worth of information, devoting their lives to the pursuit of knowledge of all kinds, specifically in the fields of theology and demonic possession.

Garius knocked upon the heavy wooden door. A moment later, a servant’s voice asked, “What business have you with the High Council?”

Garius simply held up a document to the glass portal in the center of the door, which not-so-clearly displayed what was on the other side. It was very old and slightly distorted glass, somewhat thick in nature. After a moment of waiting, Garius finally spoke.

“Garius Forge and company, on behalf of the Faceless Knights of Order, here to see Tiyarnon.” The servant threw wide the door and embarrassingly responded, “Apologies, my lord! Do come in!” He stepped aside and gestured for the three men to enter.

As soon as they were inside, the sages on either side of Garius strode forward and were greeted by others dressed in similar garb that herded them off into a deeper section of the Hall.

Garius continued to wait until he was approached by a familiar man wearing the clear markings of The Shimmering One on his vestments. Those garments were accompanied by a large holy symbol dangling from his neck, also displaying the symbol of the sun-god. He was smiling and opening his arms in a welcoming manner.

“Welcome back to the Hall of the High Council, Garius!” the older gentleman exclaimed. “We are so very glad for the generous response of the Faceless Knights in this desperate time. We are all pleased that we may have your counsel in this issue.”

“You know you always have the support of the Faceless Knights and all of our resources at your disposal, Tiyarnon. Especially under the circumstances,” Garius proclaimed. “It is the reason we exist, after all.” He was clearly trying to ease the intensity of the situation, but happy to correspond with Tiyarnon after so many years of absence.

“You did right by calling us in,” Garius added firmly. “For if there is a possession of some kind….” His words drifted off in a manner suggesting treacherous evils were lurking about. “It is my understanding that you and a few others attempted to resolve the issue yourselves?”

“Aye,” Tiyarnon admitted, averting his eyes, clearly unwilling to discuss his apparent failure. “Suffice it to say that we experienced a few…insurmountable obstacles.”

Garius eyed him intently, wondering exactly what Tiyarnon was implying.  He studied the man he had known for decades and nodded. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with that fresh scar you have on your neck, would it?”

Tiyarnon walked over to him and suddenly placed his arm around his guest’s broad shoulder and started forward, walking step for step beside him.

“Another tale for another time!” Tiyarnon suggested, changing his demeanor to something more pleasant. “I would not have called you in if I didn’t need your aid.”

“Of that I am sure,” Garius replied evenly, allowing the priest his space and not pursuing the details out of both friendship and respect.

“Follow me, old friend. I have many resources for us to review in the main hall. There is much work to be done and only a few days in which to do it. But first, let us catch up!”

Elec saddled the giant eagle and ascended into the sky once more. The landscape below was truly awe-inspiring and it was as if he noticed it for the very first time. He had recently delivered news to the city of Safehold regarding the seemingly coordinated and uncharacteristic attacks of the goblinoids that had overthrown Chansuk. But, that was only the first of two stops Elec was instructed to make.

He was burdened by the sheer weight of his task; the content and the importance of the message he had to deliver were weighing heavily on his mind. The information was integral not only to his race, but to all the Races of Order, especially if what his kin suspected was true. For the elves believed that there was a malevolent, intelligent force guiding the goblinoids’ current behavior.

His mind drifted to the distant past, recalling the kindness of the orcs and trying to discern the motive for their behavioral change. As he did so, he could not help but give thought to Ashenclaw, the deadliest of all dragons. Records indicated that sixty-six years past, Ashenclaw, the queen of the scorching drakes, went rogue. And there was no real reason for that either. For the most part, the dragons all kept to themselves until that event unfolded.

The story of Ashenclaw was also used amongst his people as a lesson regarding both the dangers of unbridled power and the necessity of always being prepared for war. It was still unknown as to why she attacked, and what exactly had been responsible for the disappearance of the dragons.

Elec had much time to think during his flight and his thoughts covered several topics, including the supposed argument about the hibernation versus extinction theories with regard to the dragons. He also reflected on the differences between his own people, the self-proclaimed high elves, and the more warrior-like forest elves.

The high elves were, after all, one of the few races that had mastered the arcane arts. They showed certain aptitudes toward tapping into the strange powers of that unknown and mysterious plane.

Other races wield the arcane powers, too. The djinn were a close second to the high elves, small though they were in number. But they specialized in harnessing the powers of the elemental planes, bending air, fire, water and the soil itself to their will. Most races, however, seemed to have certain clumsiness when it came to understanding the arcane, as did Elec himself.

Though he had a real incompetence when it came to the mystic arts, he did have one true artistic mastery: alchemical salves and elixirs. He was currently working on an improvement to one of his strains, and he considered the many materials he would need to complete his latest experiment. This subject seemed to consume much of his overall flight time. He often reconsidered recipes and theorized about new concoctions, experimenting on himself to test them. Alchemy was the art Elec obsessed about—not magic.