The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (77 page)

“Leave ‘er be now, ya hairy beast ya,” he said as he came to a stop several paces away from the taur.

Skuros Brax turned on him in a menacing way until he recognized the dwarf for who he was.

“If these bars weren’t here, she’d not be breathin’.” Skuros Brax spat as he rubbed the dark hair on his bullhead and his brown eyes had a red glow about them, which happened anytime that he or Kroskus were angry.

Xorgram had rescued the two taur from a caravan that was passing by that had them both locked up in cages. Ever since then, the taur had shown a sense of loyalty and reverence for the dwarf, especially after he let them take vengeance on their captors that day.

Skuros turned and walked slowly and angrily away from the cell, along the slightly curving mineshaft and out of sight. Xorgram watched him go. He was now alone with the princess. She remained sitting, knees bent and legs crossed over one another. Her arms were in her lap and her eyes remained shut.

“Doesn’t seem like yer fer puttin’ up much of a fuss ta me,” Xorgram said, crossing  his arms over his chest. He paused, as if awaiting a response. After a lengthy silence, he continued. “Don’t worry, princess, we’ll be gettin’ ya home soon enough. Yer loyal Captain of the Guard shoulda’ gotten word ta yer queen by now.”

Princess Amara simply looked up, eyes fixed on the dwarf as she nodded an affirmation to his suggestion.

“Oh, so ye be knowin’ that he did make it back, do ye?”

“Aye, dwarf,” Amara said, leaning forward. “I do believe that he did make it back to Norgeld, as I foresee your organization coming down around itself in the coming weeks,” she added cryptically. His eyebrow rose high over his deep blue eye in suspicion.

“Yer an oracle now too, eh?” Xorgram asked, disbelievingly. “Able ta see and tell men’s fortunes, just like the gypsies in Semmeroth, I suppose?”

“Something like that,” she admitted, standing with ease and shaking loose her blonde hair. She was dressed in an unflattering set of stained robes, sandals covering her unwashed feet. There were noticeable streaks of dirt in her hair and on her otherwise beautiful face.

“So, how does it happen then, me princess?” Xorgram asked her with obvious doubt and sarcasm. “How is it that I be meetin’ me maker?”

“I do not know,” she shrugged, trying to brush the dirt from her hair as she spoke. “All that I know is that it
could
happen. Nothing I see is ever certain.  I have a bit of a gift, you see, but it has limits.”

“I’m surin’ that ye think yer a fortune-teller, but I’m thinkin’ yer just touched in the head,” Xorgram stated boldly. “Either way, yer mum is gonna be payin’ some fine coin fer yer safe return, dontcha doubt.”

“And ye can keep yer comments ta yerself if ye be thinkin’ that ol’ Xorgram is gonna have his arse handed ta him without a fight!”

“I simply asked your bandit accomplices here if I could wash up. I have not cleaned myself in weeks and am offending my own senses,” the princess stated suddenly, stealing Xorgram from his blustering diatribe. “I cannot clean what it has done to my lungs, no doubt, but I can certainly wash the dirt from my face.”

He looked her up and down slowly. She had probably been on the road for a month or so prior to her capture and she had been here for several weeks or more at this point. It was a reasonable request.

“Am I that much of a threat?”

“Yer not much of a threat ta me own eyes, but thinkin’ too little o’ someone is what gets ya killed” Xorgram countered. “Either way, ye don’t seem ta be puttin’ up a fight. An’ I’d like ta be keepin’ it that way,” he added with a smirk. He paused and considered her as a menace and the ensuing absurdity of that notion caused that smirk to widen. He relaxed and realized her wish to be a truly simple and reasonable one. “I’ll be sendin’ a few of me ladies down here to getcha and give ye what yer wishin’ for soon enough.” He started away and what she said next stopped him in his tracks.

“Why do you do this, Xorgram? Is it for the coin? Or something more?” she asked him frankly.

Xorgram did not respond at first. But then he felt compelled to give her a warning, walked slowly back to the cell and stood before her. “Keep yer silvery tongue silent if ye wish to keep it from now on.”

His footsteps echoed as he stomped away from her, and as he did so, he could not help but give her question careful consideration.

Zabalas strode directly into the teleportation ring, which was a gift from King Dolgrath Bloodstone, created here within the Bastion of Skulls by one of his Wayfarer mages. He waited briefly and then disappeared within it, fading from the sight of Sadreth, who sat in a chair behind a desk, unmoving, as still as death itself.

Zabalas stepped out into the chambers of King Dolgrath, King of Shadowmere, and smiled in amazement once more, truly appreciative of the mage’s abilities. He proceeded down the stairs and into the main chambers, where a pair of slagfell guards greeted him with a salute.

“I’ll fetch me king, me lord,” said the slagfell to his left as the other waited stoically beside Zabalas. The guard returned shortly thereafter with King Dolgrath in tow, his braided grey beard swinging to and fro as he walked. He was dressed in robes now and not in his usual heavy armor.

“What brings ye here?” King Dolgrath asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “We’ve been moving our troops into place like ye wanted…”

“It is not that, Dolgrath,” Zabalas said, waving a dismissive hand. “I have come to ask a
favor
of sorts.”

“Aye?”

“I am here to request the aid of the mage in your clan,” Zabalas stated, “the one who can create the teleportation rings.”

“Dainn?” King Dolgrath asked, folding his arms over his chest. “He be a master of movin’, that’s fer sure. He can move ye or me if he wants ta, an’ I seen him do it.”

“I have need of his talents,” Zabalas explained, moving forward and toward the meeting hall of the fortress, away from the steps of the balcony. “I would like to place more of these portals in more strategic places. It will give us a distinct advantage over the surface folk in the coming war.”

“He be hard at work at one in particular and he be due back any time now, as a matter o’ fact.”

“When he is done then, have him come to the Bastion of Skulls. I will take him where he needs to go from there,” Zabalas instructed with a dip of his head.

“Fine, then,” Dolgrath added. “He be teachin’ a few of his students here the ways o’ his magic. His son be gettin’ just as good at the stuff, from what I be hearin’. The clan be callin’ them Wayfarers.”

“
Wayfarers
has a nice ring to it,” Zabalas agreed with a smile.

“Aye, it does,” called a gruff voice from the shadows. Dainn Gravelhand unexpectedly stepped from the portal at the top of the balcony and strolled methodically down to the base of the stairs where he paused and stared.

“I was just speaking of you,” Zabalas remarked to the hairless and extravagantly dressed slagfell as Dainn proceeded to stand before them both. Dainn’s robe was adorned with colors ranging from purple to blue to orange and in many complimentary shades.

“I might have figured,” Dainn said, speaking to both of them. “I have just finished adding the circle below the castle as you have asked, my lord.”

“Ye‘ve done well,” Dolgrath spoke. “Yer son and the others stayed behind?”

“As we have discussed,” Dainn nodded in confirmation. “They have still a few preparations yet to achieve.” He took a step back and nodded as Dolgrath turned to Zabalas.

“Will ye be securin’ the service of the succubi, Zabalas, or will the slagfell o’ Shadowmere be claimin’ all the glory in yer name?”

“Do you not want allies?”

“It might be makin’ our plans a bit easier, I’m hatin’ to admit,” Dolgrath added with a meek half-smile.

“I will know that very soon,” Zabalas answered, placing his hands behind his back, left hand on his right wrist, while staring at the strangely clad and intriguing Wayfarer. “Their unique abilities to control others will certainly make things
much
easier, would you not agree? Especially if we plan to proceed discreetly.”

“Aye. Though we would do it our way just the same if they be denyin’ ye. It’d just be bloodier is all.”

“You will be coming back with me,” Zabalas announced to Dainn, ignoring the comment of Dolgrath. “I have need of your talents.”

Dainn looked from Zabalas to his king and back to Zabalas.

“It be his honor, of course,” Dolgrath said, speaking for him.

“Although,” Dainn said, rubbing his head roughly, “I assume you need more of my portals?”

Zabalas nodded, wondering why this one spoke so fluently and without the slagfell accent.

“There is a shortage of some of the more imperative materials I require to trace the symbols. I can do things to teleport myself back and forth just fine, and am working on other experiments to…well, that is not important right now. The fact is that for multiple people—”

 “What is it that you need exactly?” Zabalas asked him curtly, sounding slightly annoyed.

“Dragon blood,” Dainn answered simply. “I am almost completely out and if that happens, I cannot produce the ink that I need to scribe the runes. I only need a small amount as I dilute it with other materials, but unfortunately, it is not readily available. Nor is it cheap in the few places where it can be procured.”

Dainn let the implication hang and waited for an answer.

“Well, then we will have to acquire some,” Zabalas stated flatly.

“The last dragon that was seen alive was over sixty years ago,” Dainn announced, a look of absurdity crossing his features. “And, as I said, the merchants who sell the stuff are few in number and demand more coin than I can manage.”

“I understand,” Zabalas answered, staring directly at the slagfell mage as he spoke. “Do you have any at all?”

“Aye. Some”

“I believe that I can get you what you need, Wayfarer,” Zabalas offered. This drew an incredulous gaze from the two slagfell as he navigated the stairs and strode toward the portal. Before he stepped through he called back, “I must do some research. I would have you accompany my personal envoys who must acquire a certain artifact that has gone missing. They must not fail. Follow me to the Bastion of Skulls when you are ready, Dainn. Do not tarry long.”

Saeunn sheathed her weapon and glanced over to the massive form of Orngoth. He happened to be swinging the remains of one of the assailants—once a human male, she guessed—over and over again, hammering the dead carcass of an orc. There was nothing left of the makeshift weapon save a stump and a limb, both stained dark with blood and dirt. He was obviously overwhelmed by the bloodlust that influenced the barbarians. She empathized with him and moved to engage him.

The sun had risen high into the sky directly above them, indicating that it was Sun’s Peak. They had much to discuss with these travelers, as well as with Garius back at their camp, and she wanted to get a move on.

She ran to Orngoth and managed to stay his right arm with some effort as he was resetting for another swipe. As he made to swing again, he did not notice the grasp of Saeunn’s hands on him. His upswing momentum lifted her off the ground as she hung onto his biceps. Orngoth turned and stared at her with eyes wide, the red of the bloodlust mingling with his usual pervasive blue glint. He raised his left fist to strike her until a look of realization crept across his face and he stopped mid-swing.

“Stop,” she begged him, looking deep into his blue eyes in a very calm manner, trying to stem his rage. “I know what it is like to hear the call of The Champion.”

He paused and it was then that he seemed to witness the scene for what it was, and that both of his foes were almost unrecognizable mounds of broken flesh and bones on the hard ground. He blinked a few times and his blank stare faded. He was coming to his senses finally and he dropped the remnants of the body to the floor and then looked at the barbarian woman.

“I…I—”

“Not now, Orngoth,” Saeunn said as she slapped him hard on his broad shoulder. “You did what you had to do. Right now we have more important things to take care of,” she said as she raced toward the newcomers, leaving Orngoth alone with his own judgments.

Crossbow bolts protruded from both the roof of the caravan, and the side that faced the archers.

She quickly spotted the elf, the one she’d seen with the bow at his feet earlier. He was slumped on the floor and bleeding from a shaft that bulged from his right arm. He was unconscious at best. She immediately noted that his chest expanded with the intake of breath and took in a deep breath of relief herself.

He passed out from the pain,
she thought as she recalled with a wince what the sting of an arrow felt like when it penetrated the flesh. She inadvertently glanced at a scar on her own arm, now covered by a tattoo, as she made the recollection.

She began to formulate a plan on getting the bolt out when she realized that Elec was nowhere to be found.

Where is the elf
? Saeunn wondered as she tore a piece of fabric from the wounded elf’s tunic and wrapped it around his arm tightly.

It was not long before the crimson of his elven blood stained the outer edge of the makeshift dressing.

Rose made her way down the hill to confirm the death of the fallen archer. After a few moments of desperate searching in the thick mist, and even thicker brush, she finally caught sight of him.

She winced at the scene. He was certainly dead, as evidenced by the strange angle at which his head rested, bent now in a way that the living could not achieve.

She then navigated through the brush to the segment of the path where the archers were perched. She looked out toward the road where they had come from, scanning for signs of movement within the mist for several moments, the height of the sun aiding her in penetrating the haze below, and managed to see a figure lying in the road—the one that Elec had gone to assist. She then looked toward the caravan to see if she could catch a glimpse of the ebon-haired elf. She did not see him, but spotted her two barbarian companions through the mist easily enough, having beaten their opposition.

 
And soundly, from the looks of it
, she thought, catching glimpses of limbs and bodies in the distance.

“I wonder where our elven friend has gotten to,” Rose wondered aloud and then glimpsed a pair of tracks off to her right. They led into the brush, which she followed accurately until the mist thickened, concealing them once again. She looked up and noticed the all too familiar signs of passage within the brush that indicated someone or something had gone this way. She wrinkled her face and rolled her eyes in contemplation and decided to do it alone. She would be able to sneak through fairly easily and did not want the presence of the others to betray her approach, so she headed in that direction as silently and nimbly as she could.

She removed her magical daggers, placing one in each hand, as she moved off after the track-makers. She maneuvered quietly and without much effort as the mist was still coating the valley floor. In the distance, she could make out a figure wearing a cloak, with long wavy hair that was the color of the blackest raven.

“Elec!” Rose whispered excitedly as she ran off to the clearing where he knelt. As she neared, his upper torso, which she could see clearly, was trembling. It was a disturbing sight for her to witness and it did not seem as if the elf even recognized her presence, though he stared right at her.

“Elec?” Rose called to him concernedly. Elec did not respond and gazed back intently at a flower in his hand. She ran to him, fearing that he might be in shock or possibly under the spell of some nearby mage. She had seen strange things like this before and glanced about looking for signs of trouble, but there was none to be found.

Or perhaps it was an effect of poison—a subject that she was very familiar with, she considered as she grasped his shoulder and spun him around to face her.

He managed to look at her and held up the plants and herbs that he had gathered as if he were validating his actions. As his eyes locked with hers, she could not help but note the distance within them, as if he was unable to focus on her or recognize her for who she was. She also noted that Elec’s white pupils were dilated so fully that there was only a thin black outline of the iris found in those white elven orbs.

“Are you…OK?” Rose asked the elf, wonder and worry etched on her face.

“Rose?” Elec answered in a surprised tone, as if he had just recognized her.

“Yes, Elec. Can you see me? Do you hear me?”

Elec nodded his head and swallowed hard. His features twisted to reflect a look of awkwardness as his face became flushed, and then he glanced away. He looked down at his hands and the contents within them, and then placed the herbs into his satchel.

“Apologies, Rose,” Elec finally answered. “I must have blacked out…I can’t remember,” he continued as he smiled disarmingly at her. She had seen the look before. It was one aimed at attempting to soothe her concerns.

He is lying
, she surmised
. But why?

“There is no sign of a wound,” Rose began as she examined his head from above while he remained on bent knee, collecting more of the vegetation that surrounded him. “But there are certainly signs of a struggle here,” Rose indicated, noting intermittently the tracks in the soil from repeated and recent movement. “What exactly happened?”

“Yes. There was a fight. But, I would rather not discuss it,” Elec said cryptically.

Rose looked around, thinking that perhaps the antagonist was nearby still. All of Elec’s actions seemed very out of place to her.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” Elec offered, fastening the buckle on his satchel. “I fought a half-blooded orc. I don’t recall what happened truly, but I—something came over me.” He looked up at her for a moment and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I assume he had his fill of me and ran off.”

 “Ran off? Assume? Why did this half-orc not kill you?!” Rose asked with a shrug, eyes wide with confusion. She began to second-guess the stability of the elf’s state of mind and feared that there was more to his odd behavior than met the eye. There was certainly something peculiar about his mannerisms and she meant to keep an eye on him in the near future.

 “Elec, please escort me back to the caravan,” Rose said, staring down at him. Elec stood and looked at her, and then back to the area where he had fought.

“He must have done something to me,” Elec added as if he were searching for the truth himself. Rose nodded to him, not uttering a word, for she had begun to formulate her own ideas as to what happened.

She led him through the brush back to the road. Elec snatched up more of the herbs along the ground and stuffed them into his satchel as they made their way along.

“These are called whitetails,” Elec said, holding up one of the plants to her. “I use them in the healing paste.” He showed her the jar of the stuff. “They are fairly rare.”

Once more, Rose nodded, not saying a word as they continued back toward the caravan, the elf following distantly behind her.

“They do seem to grow in abundance here,” Elec muttered to no one in particular as he continued to trail after Rose. She did not acknowledge him, however, as she was deep in thought.

Saeunn patted Orngoth again on his broad back.

“Take your time and hunt for game nearby and return before nightfall. I will stay with these people,” she instructed Orngoth, who did not acknowledge her but stalked away east. She watched him disappear into the mist and wondered if he’d heard her at all. Suddenly, Rose emerged from the foliage just south of where the half-ogre disappeared with Elec not far behind.

“Elec! You must tend this wounded elf with your remedies!” she called out, pointing to Elidyr the forest elf, who’d had a crossbow bolt protruding from the flesh of his arm. Saeunn managed to remove the bolt and Elidyr was holding a crimson soaked cloth over his wound, beads of sweat having escalated into a sea of perspiration upon his face and forehead.

“I have something for that,” Elec said as he smiled at the forest elf in an attempt to comfort him, “and the pain.” He removed the jar of white paste and a clean piece of fabric from his satchel. He doused the rag with a liquid that had the unmistakable aroma of alcohol and dabbed at the wound. Then he removed the lid on the jar, scooping the creamy paste onto his fingertips and spread it over the wound. Saeunn watched in anticipation as it hardened over the area, stopping the blood flow.