The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (75 page)

“Missed one,” mentioned the half-orc as he pointed toward Elec’s neck. The elf’s hand felt along, located the thorn protruding from the side of his neck and pulled it free, not feeling it. As he drew his hand, the tips of his fingers were stained crimson.

“What’s wrong with you, elf?”

Elec shook his head and blinked hard a few times as his vision blurred.

“I‘m waiting,” the half-orc stated, whipping his axe back and forth, its ebon head complete with double blades. Elec once more readied
Wyrm’s Fang
while moving around the tripwire toward the stationary half-orc. Elec downed another potion quickly, replacing the empty flask back within the bandolier and readied
Daegnar Giruth
in his right hand.

Elec nimbly crossed the distance to the half-orc, who still waited for him to completely clear the tripwire, then launched himself at Elec.

“Have at it!” the half-orc said as he unleashed a simple attack. As Elec danced to his right, the half-orc spun and reversed his weak initial thrust into a wide arcing swipe meant to disembowel him with the huge axe head. Elec’s two weapons crossed each other forming an X, dagger crossing over sword, to catch the axe and halt its progress. They did so only partially, as it looked like the axe continued past their axis, seeming to  melt through the structure of Elec’s two magical weapons. Elec was surprised at that, unable to tell if what he saw was real or imagines, and shoved the half-orc back with a thrust.  Again, his vision blurred. The half-orc wrinkled his face in confusion.

“What’s wrong with you, elf?” the half-orc repeated, more forcefully this time.

“It was some kind of illusion,” Elec concluded in a measured and confident voice. “It was meant to trick me into thinking it was real.”

“
Illusion
?” echoed the half-orc.

“I am very familiar with this kind of treachery, orc.”

“While I do have orc blood in me, I also bear the blood of a human, too,” he mentioned as if being named an orc was an insult. “And I assure you, there is no trick.” Then he charged at him once more, swinging his shield wide at Elec, followed closely by the ebon axe again. It clipped him on his arm, which was covered top to bottom in chain armor beneath his leather sleeves, but the blade still passed through the armor and scored a deep wound.

Elec did not even feel the wound, though he bled. He stared blankly at the hole in his sleeve. Another potion began to take effect as he saw the wound begin to close. Elec stood staring at the immobile half-orc, who seemed entertained by Elec’s actions. He checked the wound, and felt the elixir continuing to work, closing the wound.

“You’re an odd-looking one,” the half-orc declared. “Are you the forest breed? I cannot tell with the dark hair, the white pupils and the height on you. Or maybe you’re one of them half-breeds that has human blood, too?”

Elec leaped at the half-orc again, this time pressing the offensive, as he felt an intoxicating combination of anger and confidence wash over him. He slammed the sword then the dagger, one after the other, into the half-orc’s defenses, and even spun a kick solidly into him, slamming away his shield for an instant as Elec scored a wound on the half-orc’s midsection.

The half-orc backed away slightly surprised at the sudden ferocity, and Elec followed him, seeming to grow self-assured in his martial competence. Elec reached for another elixir. As he uncorked it, he immediately became flustered as he recognized that it was empty.

He silently chastised himself for getting caught up in the conversation with Saeunn instead of continuing with his regular and necessary preparations.

“We are not finished,” the half-orc said as he swung a mighty axe toward the distracted elf. Elec reacted by limply placing
Daegnar Giruth
out in a defensive posture, but did not have a firm grip on it as it was sent from his grasp. It went flying away and Elec looked up in astonishment, realizing the weapon was gone. The half-orc, however, stopped his advances after the weapon flew from Elec’s grasp.

“Pick it up, elf,” the half-orc instructed. Elec did nothing. He was dazed and panicked. He realized that the need for his elixirs to be constantly coursing through his veins was very real. His heart pounded and he looked to where his prized sword, a gift from his uncle, was lying prone, so easily sent from his grasp. Then the mist came on again and he lost sight of it.

“Pick it up!” Elec heard once more from the half-orc, who stood many paces from him still. After a moment of inaction, he realized that for some reason, his enemy did not press his advantage. The half-orc slowly sheathed his weapon and inspected the newest of the marks adorning his shield.

“I’m not sure what your issue is, elf, but it seems you are not fit to finish this fight. No honor in killing you this way,” he mumbled. “Maybe sometime soon, when you’re not in such a bad way, we can finish what you started. I owe you and yours for what you did to my men. I don’t have a taste for the easy kill, elf.”

With that, he ran off and disappeared into the brush as Elec fell to his knees. His vision blurred, and cleared again. He stared up into nothingness as time seemed to stand still.

Fatigue washed over him and his limbs grew heavy. For a long time, the elf simply could not move. He realized during that time that he needed to adjust his ingredients again. He had a lot of work to do, experimenting on some new combinations.

He blacked out for some time. He did not know how long he was out, but when he shook his head and finally stood, the sun had hardly moved. He navigated his way through the mist and finally spotted a glint of sun on steel.

He recovered his sword, replaced it reverently in its scabbard and began frantically to collect some of the plant life and herbs growing in the area, which he needed to recreate his elixirs. He also noted the presence of a rare plant called
whitetail
that he used in his healing balm. He held a flask in his hands, looked at it and breathed heavily. His hands shook and he downed the contents. He stood quietly again and allowed the quickening potion to take effect.

After all, if he had to gather plants, he may as well do it quickly, he reasoned.

As he fell into his work, all thoughts of his friends and his most recent enemy disappeared.

Jorlin stood outside the doors to Queen Lynessa’s throne room. This was the appointed area within Citadel Pridemoon where she formally greeted out of town guests, and also where she held meetings and trials. He was alone and ashamed of his past shortfall and wished he now that he would have died protecting her. Nevertheless, he clenched his jaw, steeled his resolve, and pondered his fate, hoping this was
only
a meeting and not a trial as a watchman opened the iron door. It opened inward and two more sentries stood at attention, silent and still, allowing him to enter. He was wearing his full suit of armor, adorned with the tabard of the Norgeld Watch over that armor, as was customary.

Queen Lynessa sat uneasily upon her throne. As Jorlin approached, guards to her left and right, he noticed the features upon her face and immediately thought her to be sleep-deprived at best. She wore little to no make-up and her clothes were unkempt, as was her hair. She was quite unkempt, which alarmed him even more as to her current state of mind and overall health. He knelt and gave her a proper and polite greeting, bowing his head low. “My lady.”

He heard shuffling and raised his head. The queen stood within an arm’s length of him.

“Where…is…my
daughter
!?” she screamed in a shrill voice that sounded as if it came from Pandemonium’s own denizens rather than this once beautiful and regal woman.

Jorlin slowly stood and met the queen’s wide stare, then lowered his head to face the ground in shame.

“I…I do not know, my lady,” admitted Jorlin with all the honesty he could muster.

Queen Lynessa moved to sit back in her throne and bade Jorlin come closer to her. He ascended the stairs after her and stood close to the throne. It made him uncomfortable to say the least.

“Please explain in great detail what happened,” the queen commanded with a much calmer demeanor. Jorlin nodded and straightened to his full height, trying to regain his sense of honor as he addressed his queen.

“Princess Amara instructed me that she wanted to visit Safehold, my lady,” Jorlin began. “She did not inform me of much else. I merely obeyed the instructions of the princess and followed her commands without question as I am bound by an oath that I swore years ago—”

“I am aware of your oath!” the queen spat angrily, shifting in her chair in obvious frustration. “I do not need you to recite your vows, rather to execute them!” She waited a moment for the man to regain his composure and stared at him, indicating for him to continue.

“As I said, my lady, the princess gave me instructions to gather a small contingent of men and to prepare a caravan for departure to Safehold immediately,” continued Jorlin in an exasperated voice. “I gathered the men and prepared the caravan as instructed and we left, in the middle of the night, no less.”

“And this did not strike you as odd?” Lynessa asked him suspiciously.

“I am sorry, my lady, but mine is not to question the orders of the princess,” Jorlin answered. A long silence ensued as she merely stared at him, seemingly wanting to put a sword through his heart. Her eyes glowered and she had hate in her eyes that was palpable. And then it disappeared again and she gestured for him to continue.

“I do recall a while back that she went on at length about visions of some kind and that she was connected somehow to the gods…I do not remember which though, and never gave it much thought, for my place is not to question the Princess of Norgeld.”

“Ever the loyal soldier,” the queen mocked, clearly unhappy with the decisions that were made. “She spoke to me often about having these divine visions and…omens. I dismissed them as the silly notions of a young woman simply having bad dreams,” the queen admitted, then immediately changed the subject. “Let us move on to the details of my daughter’s disappearance, shall we?”

Jorlin nodded and continued his recount.

“We traveled uneventfully for the first few weeks, occasionally deterring a pack of wolves or two, continuing through the snow and cold of Winter’s Veil and into Winter’s Bite of the new year, 66 PA. We stopped for nothing at the behest of Amara,” continued Jorlin, gesturing emphatically with his hands to emphasize several points. “It was after we crossed Nature’s Pass, high over the River Divide and past the Amrel Forest somewhere, that we were attacked.”

“Go on,” commanded Queen Lynessa.

“We were accosted from the hills on either side of us. Through the strong winds and bitter cold, we did not even realize that we had thoughtlessly wandered into an ambush,” Jorlin continued in shame. He paused a moment, evidently reliving the horrifying events. “They were led by an orc, a green-skin with yellow eyes and tattoos along his right arm and he wore skulls hanging on chains from his belt,” Jorlin had excitement and fear in his voice as he recalled the details of the fierce orc highwayman.

“He…he said ‘your goods or your lives’. My men—ten soldiers of the Norgeld Watch—initially denied the raiders their bounty. The orc laughed and he and his men charged. He meant to rob us—”