The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (71 page)

“Meaning?”

“I’m saying these newcomers are an unknown is all, sir.” Amtusk thought hard about those surprisingly insightful words, and moved back a few steps as he surveyed the area for more intruders, and then lowered his crossbow.

“If things go bad, take the news to Xorgram for me,” he said tapping the shoulder of the closest archer. “I’m not leaving my post, so make sure that one of you does. Understand?”

 The men nodded an affirmation as they waited to discover the purpose of the newest pawns in the game that was developing below them.

Amtusk peered through the mist and thought this to be quite intriguing. These new arrivals were an unknown factor that he did not account for and, one way or the other, he figured their initial task had just gotten a bit more complicated.

“I’ll be back,” Amtusk said to the grim-faced man who held his crossbow at the caravan. Then the half-orc stowed his own crossbow, removed his shadowsteel axe and began to make his way down the hill and into the fog, intending to gain the rear flank of the outsiders.

Maybe I’ll be getting’ a chance to use this axe sooner than later after all, eh, Xorgram?
He thought as he made his way quickly through the brush.

“Your satisfaction is my greatest desire, of course, my master,” called a seductive female voice from deep within the shadows from where a heavily armored, and rather large figure, emerged. Zabalas ignored the comment of the shadowy figure as she receded into the darkness and closed a door behind her in the distance.

Zabalas walked further into his spacious quarters, fully content with his current plans, and hoping to hear good news from his latest ‘guest’. He continued along his path, heading directly toward a creature that sat motionless at his desk, hood thrown over its head. Zabalas’s footsteps, the only sound in the vast room, echoed on the hard floor as he approached the once powerful figure known as Sadreth.

“Has there been any progress?” Zabalas asked as the creature turned to regard him.

“Nothing…yet,” Sadreth managed through rotted teeth and tongue.

“Your phylactery remains distant still?” Zabalas asked rhetorically, not receiving the news he’d hoped. “The militia I sent to recover it was a sizable one. What could have happened to so large a force?” Zabalas mused aloud as he spun on his guest and strode over to a second wretched creature standing unsteadily in a corner of his bedchambers. It wavered slightly, unsure of its footing and recovered to lean against a post at the foot of his bed.

“And what shall I do, Father?” Zabalas addressed the creature in a mocking tone. “The amulet still eludes me. Do I have to take matters into my own hands already? Are the orcs of Kelgarek not competent enough to finish this simple, yet important task? So many questions,” he added, stopping to stare at the creature before him. “I seek your counsel, Father. Do you not find it ironic that your tongue remains silent now, when I
ask
for your guidance?”

Zabalas laughed for a long time after the clear insult to the mockery of what had once been his own flesh and blood, his king, and his patriarch. “You are always the surprise, aren’t’ you, Father? And yet, I am always disappointed at your actions.” The thing that was once his father gurgled a sound not meant for this world before shuffling away in silence.

“Perhaps my most trusted emissaries would like a chance to prove their loyalty to me instead?” he added. “Maybe they can bring me the phylactery, if the mighty goblinoid tribe cannot.”

The undead wretch that was Kaldar swayed back and forth, staring blankly toward the dark warlord as if it understood him, before looking away slowly once more.

“Father, you are an even greater disappointment in death…” Zabalas turned from the creature and headed back to stand before Sadreth.

“I will be seeing to it that your power is restored soon, mighty Sadreth, so that you too can begin your reign of terror and destroy those who have betrayed you!” Zabalas said this forcefully, eyeing first the walking corpse that was once his father and then looking back to Sadreth, noting that there was not much difference in their outward appearance.

“It seems that I must give this task to Phaera as I cannot trust the orcs and goblins with something of this import,” he said after a pause, rubbing his chin in a contemplative manner. “How sad it is. I had such faith in them. But, I will give them something else to do…something
less
…
momentous
.”

“Must…have…artifact…,” moaned Sadreth as he reached a withered hand out toward Zabalas. His sunken red eyes that were dimly lit only a heartbeat ago, suddenly flashed brightly, registering a palpable anticipation concerning the return of his power source.

“Yes,” Zabalas cooed. “We will secure the artifact you desire, no matter what it takes.”

As he finished the sentence, the presence of a male orc filled the frame of his doorway.

“I assume you have news?” Zabalas asked the green-skinned creature, clearly bothered by the interruption.

“Message, my lord,” called the gruff voice of the orc. “Chieftain Kelgarek requires your presence.”

“Requires?!” barked Zabalas incredulously.

“Desires, my lord! Apologies!” he answered, dropping to one knee and bowing his head.

“Of course,” Zabalas said calmly as he walked toward the orc. “I will oblige him.”

The orc began to back out of the room and into the corridor, not perceiving the beautiful albino creature that stood behind him. He seemed irritated that his progress had been impeded and twisted his face in a frown at the succubus. She looked pleadingly to Zabalas who stood in the entryway before nodding his consent to her. That affirmation caused a cruel grin to creep across her face.

“Where are you going?” called the soft voice of Phaera to the orc.

He spun and immediately reacted as if he’d seen a ghost, shrinking back at the sight of the succubus. Zabalas watched with delight then as Phaera’s appearance altered. He and the orc were the only ones able to see the transformation as she had willed it as such, knowing that Zabalas would indeed enjoy the demonstration.

The image of her distorted and immediately reformed into an orc female—one that was appealing to the orc as he stepped forward a few paces, reluctantly at first. She bade him to come to her, arms open in a welcoming way. Her shapely leg came forth from beneath her tunic, egging him on and he complied with her proposal, moving closer to her and eventually taking her in his arms.

Her eyes pleaded with him seductively for a kiss. He obliged her.

The orc kissed her deeply and his eyes widened at that initial contact as his lips touched her own, a clear twinge of pain appearing on his face. Nevertheless, he continued anyway, unable to stop himself.  She kissed him deeply and held him firm with the vigor of demonic strength as he tried unsuccessfully to wriggle out of her threatening embrace, but to no avail. She held the kiss until he stopped fighting her, either from weakness or indifference, and eventually she dropped him to the hard, stone floor.

“Impressive,” Zabalas acknowledged with a nod, drawing a sinister smirk of conceit from the succubus, who shifted into her demonic form in response.

Her eyes glinted with a twinkle of evil and some of the wrinkles that had adorned her face very recently disappeared, replaced with the smooth skin that reflected the presence of youth. She shook her white hair and it danced loosely along her shoulders. She moaned happily in conjunction as a vibrant vitality flowed intensely within her.

“So easily they are fooled,” she purred to the dark warlord. “If only
all
men were so easily led astray.”

She walked hurriedly away from the ominous warlord, who turned a cold look her way at the comment clearly meant for him. He had enjoyed watching her drain the life from the orc in order to revitalize herself though, admiring the self-preserving instincts of the succubi, so close to his own. He followed her down the hallway and stood silently in the doorway to her room, admiring the beautiful demon as she slid onto her bed. She noticed him and lay seductively there in response, waiting for a reaction of some kind.

“Send Prishnack to locate the apprentices or Kelgarek’s scouting party,” Zabalas ordered. “It seems that I must pay a visit to the town of Chansuk and see what news the orcs of the Bonemasher clan can give me about their delays in bringing back my artifact. You will accompany me on that journey, along with the others.”

Phaera frowned at that order and remained in her bed defiantly for a moment. Zabalas turned to walk away and heard her cursing at him under her breath. He smiled again, admiring her attempts to seduce him. He would expect no less from her.

He strode into the hallway, retrieved the barely-living orc and threw it over his massive shoulder. Then he entered his chambers, walking calmly past both Sadreth and Kaldar and into the shadows at the back of the room, where he disappeared behind a large, heavy door.

The sounds of an orc’s cries of pain echoed briefly for a few moments after, and then silence once more flooded the chamber’s space.

 Rogoth once more heard the distant and seemingly ever-present call from the amulet. It was the same amulet he had slyly taken from the blonde priest that fateful day.

He had never spoken of it. Not to Xorgram, not to his wife and not to any of the coven. It was his secret that he had pried the thing from the blonde priest’s hand that curled around it so tightly.

Nor did he mention to anyone that it spoke to him. They would think him mad, as he sometimes did himself. He was unsure as to what he would do or who he would confide in. He was beginning to question if the amulet was even talking to him at all or if he just imagining the whole thing.

After all, no one else can hear you, right?
Rogoth thought.

“Of course no one else can hear me! I have picked you, Rogoth. I picked you—or rather you picked me, isn’t that right?”
cooed the voice in his mind. “
You don’t need anyone but me
,” continued the voice in a soothing and seductive tone. “
I can give you power beyond comprehension if you just…let me.
”

Rogoth ignored it and closed his eyes once more in a vain attempt to find sleep, pushing the voice from his mind. Over the past few weeks, it seemed to have become much louder and more distinct, and it spoke to him more frequently.

Suddenly he shot up from the bed, wiped the beads of perspiration from his head and ran a hand through his sweat-soaked auburn hair. He took a deep breath and peered at the footlocker containing the amulet.

“
Yes, come to me and hold me once more,”
said the voice in his mind, enticing him.
“There is no reason to leave me locked up in here!”

“No!” Rogoth firmly answered, a bit louder than he had intended. His elven wife in the bed next stirred at the outburst. Her wide brown eyes opened wide and then squinted at him.

“Rogoth?” called the cracked, dry voice of Meliana, his wife, in the dimly lit room. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing. I…only…I need some water,” lied Rogoth to the beautiful and shapely forest elf in his bed. “I did not mean to wake you.”

“Come back to bed,” she said, twirling a lock of jade hair as the light danced along her tanned flesh. It was an admirable attempt on her part to coax him to join her, but even that could not dissuade the ominous visions and encroaching anxiety from his mind. He forced his eyes from her attractive form and stared once more at his footlocker.

“
Yes, go back to bed…and then drive the tip of your blade into her heart!
” called the horrifying voice.

“Never!” he whispered to the darkness, searching around the room as if searching for the source, still denying its true origin. He tried in vain to disbelieve the source derived from the amulet in the trunk at the foot of his bed.

“What are you saying, Rogoth?” asked Meliana, her keen sense of hearing discerning what he had whispered. “Are you speaking to me?”

“No…I was having a nightmare,” Rogoth said in a muddled tone, drawing a concerned look from his wife.