The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (68 page)

The doppelganger shook his head and looked away.

“We must go now, before we are discovered,” Phaera instructed, looking about the room and detecting the glowing red eyes of Prishnack hovering in the far shadows. “I am sure the priests will be returning soon.”

They all made their way quickly to the rooftop of the temple and Phaera began to change form. She dropped her concealing robes to the floor as her body began to reshape itself into that of the demonic form of the succubi. Her amber eyes lost their pupils while a pair of curved, ivory horns jutted out from the tips of her forehead and escaped from beneath her white hair. Her ears lengthened and ended in points while a tail shot forth from her backside. Two wings sprouted from the top of her back, looking like those of a bat.

She soared into the night air with glee and looked down, waving to Solagh mockingly before flying down again to hover above the rooftop.

“You may begin when you are ready, Prishnack,” Phaera called to the open air. She saw the hooded and robed form of the djinni materialize in front of her.

“Very…well..,” she heard within the shadows of the hood, his voice seeming to somehow drift on the open wind as it faded and grew in volume, then faded again. Before she could ponder that peculiarity, a breeze began to pick up around them and she was hoisted off the ground by it. Propelled by something more than the natural wind, the two sped off toward the Bastion of Skulls for a rendezvous with the mighty Zabalas Dimonia.

He will be pleased
, thought Phaera as she glided along on the winds of the djinni.

Solagh guided the three priests along the River Divide in a southerly direction. The river was located just to the west of the Amrel Forest, home to the accursed elves that Solagh despised. He continued to lead them across the bridge called Nature’s Pass, which was made from several fallen trees, presumably by those very same elves that inhabited Amrel. He did not like the elves at all, but had no real choice. The south was full of wild beasts and this bridge would get him to the meeting point much faster.

Solagh was silently congratulating himself on his role as infiltrator under the guise of Niomir, the acolyte. He had deceived the blonde male priest, the human female named Alana and yet another priest—a human named Rolf, who happened to be spending a bit too much time with Alana—into helping him steal the phylactery of Sadreth.

The blonde one named Thaurion carried the artifact as the group continued to move tirelessly towards their rendezvous with Zabalas. The priests were barely managing to cover themselves from the elements but acted as if they hardly felt the effects of the cold breeze. The four of them travelled lightly and moved quietly, under cover of the moonlight, through the brush and along the base of mountainsides whenever possible to remain undetected over the next few days.

The artifact that Thaurion carried was affixed to a link of chain and was supposedly the key to the return of Sadreth’s vast powers. It had been taken from its magically warded box within the temple of The Shimmering One a few nights prior. The artifact was apparently a sentient thing, Zabalas warned Solagh, which intrigued the doppelganger quite a bit. He also ordered Solagh to make sure that one of the priests carried it. He was under direct orders not to touch the thing himself, which intrigued him further, though he would never disobey the dark warlord for fear of death…or worse.

Solagh smiled a satisfied smile as he trod upon the suddenly hilly ground, pleased with his role in the mission and also with the power of his own magical trinket. The group continued in their easterly direction as he ran over in his mind the events that had brought that particular charm into his possession.

He had come to acquire the item when, in his travels many years ago, he had disposed of a very powerful sorceress. He was posing as her confidante and lover, spending many years in the role, and managing to poison her over those many years. She finally passed away from what seemed to be a natural illness.

Before anyone could decipher what had actually happened, Solagh made off with several of her more powerful relics and heirlooms, including the Necklace of Persuasion that he now wore. It was a very innocuous and innocent-looking stone of a jade hue, hanging from a silver chain. Solagh had seen it and heard about it from the sorceress herself, as she constantly bragged to him about its power.

The talisman worked its magic by making Solagh’s words seem more and more agreeable the longer he was in contact with his victim. The magic within the amulet affected the mind in such a way as to make it seem as though, after several weeks of suggestions, the victim had come up with the idea on his or her own. It was the perfect item for Solagh in his profession, he admitted, as he drew his robes tightly around him, trying to fight off the constant biting of the wintry wind.

The second item he had taken from the sorceress was an astounding ring that projected a small radius of magic which minimized the effects of extreme temperatures and environmental effects and completely did away with the need for sustenance. This power was currently in effect, aiding him and the priests as they made their way along, but he still shivered in conjunction with the biting wind in remembrance of what it used to feel like on his skin.

A third item he had claimed was the warding trinket, which could be used to hide the user from magical scrying. It could also throw a cloak of invisibility in a wide circle, approximately ten feet in circumference, that would hide any within it, though this required a good deal of concentration and was limited in its uses. It could save them if they came across anything hostile and so he had it at the ready.

He used the Necklace of Persuasion now to direct these three apprentices towards the awaiting army of orcs that would be meeting them and guiding them back to Zabalas, as was the plan.

The four of them traversed a rather large hill and once they had made it to the top, Solagh surveyed the landscape for Zabalas’s forces. Solagh turned to inspect his comrades, who despite ignoring their environment and their own personal needs, seemed none the worse for wear.

“Halt,” he ordered the three of them as he acknowledged the sound of something moving in the distance. There was plenty to be frightened of in the wilderness of Wothlondia. Attacks from tyrantians, trolls, ogres, worgs and any manner of dire animal or beast were not uncommon. And there was always the possibility of running into the elves, which Solagh wised to avoid. He looked around for several moments, keeping quiet and listening, but could see and hear nothing in the moonlit surroundings. All was quiet again. He readied the magic in the warding trinket in case anything made its presence known.

He felt the impending manifestation of something dangerous and began to mouth the words that would invoke the magic of invisibility, but never quite finished the incantation. Solagh suddenly heard something break the silence and rip his concentration from the words as he concurrently felt the sting of a sharp, hard object pierce the flesh of his back. He looked down to see what appeared to be the tip of a crossbow bolt protruding from his right side. He gasped in horror, not knowing or understanding what was happening. He tried to concentrate through the pain, to bring forth the magic that would make them disappear from sight, but he could not focus through the intolerable agony he felt.

He saw the attackers descend upon the group from all angles.

Highwaymen!? Of all the damned times for—

The combination of the surrounding darkness and the pain must have been playing tricks on him, though, as he imagined he’d seen something with a bull’s head charge the group, stopping him from pondering further. It hit one of the priests square in the chest and knocked him to the ground.

A taur?
thought Solagh as he fell to his knees.

He watched helplessly as another assailant backhanded the female priest, knocking her prone as he continued his own descent to the hard and rocky ground. His vision was becoming fuzzy and he barely managed to focus long enough to witness the priest named Rolf fall backward as he was hit solidly with a club, stumbling further down the hill.

He looked over to Thaurion, who was also being beaten by a number of assailants. They finally managed to knock him to the ground too, where he lay battered and bloodied. And Solagh wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn he saw one the attackers take the amulet from the acolyte!

“Your goods or your lives,” he heard from a gruff voice in the distance.

Solagh snapped the tip off the crossbow bolt under his chest and let out a muffled cry of pain, then managed to pull it out and sloppily spread a healing paste overtop the wound on both his front and back as best he could in an attempt to stop the bleeding. His hands were stained with both the brown paste of the ointment and the crimson of his own blood.

Where are the damned orcs?!

His vision blurred from pain and loss of blood, but he began to feel some of the healing effects of the ointment before he passed out.

He awoke several hours later to find himself and the others being carted off somewhere on the backs of orcs—Bonemasher orcs! He tried to communicate who he was and what had happened, but he could manage no words as the soreness from the injury radiated within him. He panicked as he felt the pain heighten around the wound and, despite his best efforts, lost consciousness once more.

Later still, he awoke to discover that he was lying prone on a hard floor somewhere and that the other priests were there as well—alas, none of them awake so that he could command them to perform their healing abilities. Again he felt the undeniable pain and numbness set in. Try as he might, he could not get the attention he needed as his greatest fear was realized.

He could not find the healing balm he’d used before as he had been stripped of all his belongings. However, he felt the Necklace of Persuasion around his neck, but he had no subjects upon whom to exert its power.

He panicked, feeling the blood trickle from his body, whimpering in vain for help that would never come.

“How long has it been since we left that awful temple?” asked Rose Thorne, who sat with her left leg draped over the arm of a chair. She was seated at the table in the center of the wagon. She held the magnificent dagger
Zaedra
—one of a pair with
Avorna
—in her left hand, admiring its expertly-made hilt and blade and absently twirled a shock of her auburn hair sporadically as she looked about the caravan’s interior, awaiting an answer.

Saeunn sat in a chair to her right staring out a porthole while Orngoth lay down on the floor where the group had spread out several bedrolls in an attempt to make it more comfortable for the massive half-ogre. The three apprentices were present—Alana, Thaurion and the badly injured but recovering Rolf, who was not in the best of shape, but whose condition had at least stabilized.

Elec Stormwhisper and Garius Forge moved about the caravan, each of them pacing back and forth and seeming not to notice one another as they did so. Garius was in his seemingly ever-present, brooding state, while the elf appeared to be suffering from an intense state of agitation.

Rose regarded Garius more introspectively as her eyes slyly fell over the influential Inquisitor. He carried himself with such honor and conviction, as was expected by the esteemed and feared organization known as the Order of the Faceless Knights.

Garius had been pacing the floor for quite some time as the sun had dipped markedly in the sky by her estimation. And yet, he never slowed that tireless pace, seeming to move with remarkable ease beneath his heavily plated armor, and seeming never to display a hint of fatigue. He wore that heavy steel as effortlessly as a sage might wear a robe, Rose noted. She found herself, strangely enough, wondering what kind of physique lie beneath the steel that he might keep up that pace. Lean and dense, she guessed, as her brows dreamily lifted in wonder.

“Two days now,” Garius suddenly interjected, answering her question. His words startled her, thankfully disengaging her from an admittedly embarrassing line of images that had entered her mind’s eye.

“We near the northern section of the Oakcrest Mountains,” continued the Inquisitor, unaware of Rose’s revealing expression and recent thoughts, as he paused to stare out the porthole opposite her. Rose finally realized the sudden rumbling of the wagon as it rolled over the uneven ground below. “We shall be much deeper into the range within the next half day, and should be moving due south around the mountain by nightfall. Once we arrive in Heartwood Valley, beyond the Oakcrest Mountains, we will stop and you will be able to stretch your legs. The path should become less treacherous at that juncture, too.”

Rose peered outside and watched as the sun disappeared behind a cloud, pondering the recent events that had brought them here. They had been traveling for at least two days straight by her count, and planned to go at least one more, before stopping. She hoped they might be able to fish, or gather fresh venison, as she desired something other than dried bread and stale fruit.

She glanced to the front of the wagon and recalled the construct that drove Nimaira’s magical caravan as it continued along its given task, seemingly paying no heed to those riding within.

Garius turned from the porthole as his gaze fell over the half-ogre, who occupied a sizeable portion of the caravan’s floor in front of the alcove occupied by their bunks. His battered leg was elevated and resting on a chair. They’d all taken note as Orngoth’s leg was mending at a much faster rate than they’d anticipated, and it seemed that the bone was fusing in an uneven fashion. They had not gotten the chance to set it properly after the escape from the temple and now it appeared it was too late. Garius explained that he did not fully understand why it happened that way and reasoned that magic had to be involved, though its origins were unknown.

Rose’s ankle and Saeunn’s elbow, however, were completely and properly healed, thanks to a combination of both Garius’s healing abilities and Elec’s alchemical ointments.

And so, they trudged along for another day. Rose observed in silence as Elec conversed with Saeunn and made frequent and lengthy disappearances into his extra-dimensional lab. When the barbarian woman did speak to the inquisitive elf, he intently consumed the information with an attentive gaze.

Rose passed her time in deep consideration as to why her own thoughts were of the Inquisitor. Thoughts and images leapt to mind consistently, and in ways she’d never imagined possible after their disheartening intital encounter in the Hall of the High Council. She looked up to see the Inquisitor staring at her until he abruptly signaled for the caravan to stop.

Elec made his way to the rear of the caravan where he stored his personal belongings. She noticed him as he briefly uncovered both the bone staff of the orc shaman, and the masterfully crafted sword of the orc commander. His eyes held wonder, as if he was considering the very magic those items held locked within their firm exteriors. He then covered them again, stowed them away without a word, made to stand beside the Inquisitor, who stood in the doorway of the caravan waiting for it to come to a stop.

Suddenly, Rose recalled that Garius mentioned a particular cavity in the mountainside he’d mentioned that would be an ideal setting to privately perform the interrogation ritual on the young acolyte, Thaurion. He went on to say that the ritual would obtain as much information as the young man’s subconscious could allow. Thaurion was to be a willing participant, much to the young man’s chagrin.

The caravan unceremoniously lurched forward one last time before it finally came to a halt, pulling Rose’s thoughts from what unpleasant experiences that ritual might impart on the young priest.

 The group collectively stood and stretched, trying to allow the blood to flow into their stiff muscles. Rose shook off the horrifying images in her mind and steadied her abnormally fast breathing.

Alana and Thaurion emerged from the rear of the caravan where they slept and helped the injured Rolf to his feet. He had been resting in Elec’s cot at the bottom while Thaurion slept above him with Alana on the opposite side.

The group had been sleeping in shifts, taking turns keeping an eye on Rolf and Orngoth as needed. While the others slept, Rose had seen Thaurion fashioned part of the makeshift gurney he’d assembled in the temple of Thanatos into a crutch for Rolf. The young acolyte had evidently apprenticed in the ways of woodworking, Rose surmised, as she’d watched the young priest work over the last few days without the advantage of proper tools needed for such a task.

Rose watched as Garius quickly inspected the cave mouth. She also noted patches of a glowing moss of some kind that appeared to bathe the space in an emerald light, feint though it was.

“This will have to do,” Garius announced before proceeding out of the cave and back into the caravan. Rose watched intently as he conferred with Thaurion and then instructed the young priest to wait for him at the cave mouth. Garius then turned to Saeunn who stood outside the caravan, looking around as if she half-expected a fight to break out.

“Why dont you see what you can find in the way of game,” Garius said, staring into Saeunn’s eyes. “The ritual will take considerable time as I sense there is much to uncover.”

“Aye,” Saeunn nodded as she scanned the area, tying her sash around her head in an attempt to curtail the loose strands of hair that obstructed her line of vision.

It was mid-afternoon and the chill in the air was all but gone, she noted as she rubbd her arms briskly, Saeunn locking eyes with her.

“Perhaps we can use this time to hunt fresh game,” suggested Saeunn.

Rose watched as Elec stepped out of the caravan and moved to stand beside the barbarian woman.

“That’s the best offer I’ve heard this entire trip,” Rose admitted. “I’m sick of eating this stuff that tastes like bark from a tree,” she said, holding out a handful of the dried and stale bread that was in abundance, before tossing it back into her belt pouch in disgust.

The three of them looked back and heard the caravan door open once again. The half-ogre noisily made his way out and landed with a grunt as he hopped to the hard ground. Rose and Elec looked to one another, not so much surprised that he was openly pain-free, but more to the point that he was walking at all, considering the severe break he had received only a few days prior at the hands of the terrifying orc commander, Grubb.

Orngoth walked with a noticeable limp, however, favoring his left leg where he had broken both bones under the shin. Though, if he were in any kind of pain at all, he did not show the slightest hint of it.

“I’ll go, too,” Orngoth said, shuffling toward the three of them. They all looked at one another and Saeunn nodded with a smile of respect for the barbarian half-ogre, and Elec and Rose were not about to argue with him.

“Nothing for me in there,” Orngoth added as he held aloft his magical gem, which they had recovered in the underground temple. “I owe you still.” He showed the gem to them and tt shone a dull, white light as he held it.

“A hand, please,” called a female voice from behind them. Rose turned and stood staring at Alana, who was asking for help to bring Rolf back into the caravan. Elec nodded and moved to help her as Rose noted that despite the hell that Alana had been through, she was a pretty young girl beneath the soot and dirt. Her short auburn hair seemed clean enough and her blue eyes shone brightly with an inner joy that reminded her of the life he’d often seen within Marielle.

“I would not want to be on the other end of that interrogation,” Rose quipped with a purposeful pause, “again.”

She gestured to her companions in the direction of the cave mouth where Garius had only recently disappeared with Thaurion in tow.

Or would I?
Rose found herself thinking.

 “Aye?” Rose added with a nudge to Saeunn. The barbarian shrugged, either not catching the sarcasm in Rose’s voice or not caring for the joke.

“She doesn’t get me,” Rose mumbled, as she walked away from the caravan to investigate the surrounding area. Saeunn, Elec and Orngoth went with her, leaving the caravan far behind.

They had not been walking for very long before Elec’s keen eyes spotted some commotion at the bottom of the hill where they now stood.

“Hold,” he said, raising his hand. He reached into his belt pouch, removed his mystical lens and held it to his eye. There was a lengthy pause before he finally spoke again, “there are figures there on that ridge.”

The point of which Elec spoke was overlooking a section of Heartwood Valley that was currently covered by an ever-swelling fog, making long distance signaling and visuals all but impossible. But this particular elf’s eyes were something special, born of fey blood and capable of seeing things as clearly as a hawk might, particularly when combined with the magic of the lens.

“They are armed with crossbows,” he said as he pointed toward the hill directly opposite them. It looked to be a heavily traveled road, unlike the path that Garius had chosen for them to use on their journey here.

 Saeunn withdrew her greatsword. Elec quickly reached back and restrained her arm as forcefully as he could. She regarded him fiercely as his grip lingered a bit longer than he’d intended, and her gaze fell from his eyes to where his hand still grasped her arm tightly. He released his grip just as quickly.