The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (80 page)

Amtusk approached the area he called home with a sense of adventure stirring within him that he hadn’t felt in years. So many questions ran through his mind as he continued the journey back to Hollow Hill. He found himself occasionally stopping to see if he was being followed.

He saw no one.

He picked his path carefully so that he could not be tracked and made it to the base of the hill. He began his climb up the winding path. Along the way, thoughts of these latest aggressors entered his mind, leaving him with so many questions.

Eventually, he saw the familiar, derelict gate that surrounded the village and took note of the sentries positioned exactly where they were supposed to be, hidden and alert. He signaled them as he approached, indicating that he was alone.

He wondered further about the strange elf who’d engaged him. He felt that the elf would offer him more of a challenge, but something impeded the elf’s mind. He was not sure what happened. Perhaps he was drunk? He wished to test not only his new axe, but his skills in combat as well, for his prowess was amongst the very best in the Blackstone Brotherhood. He hadn’t been in an actual
fight
in years. The Brotherhood practiced a clandestine type of warfare, ambushing passersby, or bullying the inferior travelers into handing over their valuables before sending them on their way or to an early grave.

This often did not sit well with the half-orc, but his debt to Xorgram Eboneye was not yet paid and he would see it through.

He practiced the martial arts daily, either by himself or with others who wanted to train. But the real thing was different. He enjoyed the competition, as long as the battle was fair. There was no honor, otherwise.

There was something about the real thing—the adrenaline rush, the dryness of the mouth, the narrowing of the vision, the increased heart rate, and the implementation of years of training. None of those tangible effects could be simulated.

The dark-haired elf had put up a fight, albeit briefly. He anticipated a rematch in the future as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

He looked down once more at his shadowsteel axe head and appreciated the fine craftsmanship. “Perhaps soon I will have the opportunity to put you to the test.”

“What is the issue?” asked Synewulf. “Where are your men?”

Amtusk could smell the alcohol on his fellow raid leader’s breath, but kept his tongue silent. Amtusk shook his head in disgust at the once-capable-warrior-turned-cutthroat.

Synewulf was the opposite of Amtusk in every way. He fought with dishonor and would take any advantage offered by his opponent in combat, often resorting to shady tactics and dirty fighting to gain the upper hand. Amtusk believed this to be cowardly and respected the honor of combat, just as his ancestors had.

“We were counter-attacked by a group of well-armed and capable persons that made short work of my unit,” answered Amtusk reservedly, not enjoying having to admit to such things. He spun to witness Synewulf glowering at him in response.

“And yet, here you are,” Synewulf offered with a grin that twisted into an open snicker, provoking Amtusk into grasping the handle of his axe. He forced his hand from the shaft of the weapon and continued past Synewulf, planting a shoulder into his chest. He would not allow himself to be intimidated by this coward. Synewulf sneered at him while he ran a hand through his ragged blonde hair.

“This ain’t over by a long shot, pig-face,” he mumbled loud enough for Amtusk to hear.

Amtusk ignored the bait and headed directly toward the entrance of the mines. He continued down the long passageway past the laborers and toward Xorgram’s private quarters. He made it to the first landing and descended the ladder. But instead of moving to the bottom of that landing, he stopped at one in between the two, where another, less-used platform was situated.

Amtusk stepped onto the platform and spun on his heel, standing before the largely concealed door that was Xorgram’s quarters. He knocked hard on the camouflaged wooden door that appeared as just another section of the wall to those who did not know of its presence.

A clicking sound was heard on the other side and Amtusk knew the dwarf was using a hidden peephole to observe him. That was followed by the distinct sound of locks being thrown. A bar sounded as it was slid across the door and it swung wide to reveal the stout figure of Xorgram Eboneye, who hurried him inside

“What are ye doin’ here?!” Xorgram asked his raid leader, who stood with his eyes directly on the floor, gazing at his boots. He began nervously scratching a tuft of the deep auburn hair sporadically populating his chin that he considered a goatee.

Amtusk slowly raised his face to meet Xorgram’s own and the half-orc could immediately see an expression of concern adorning his leader’s face.

“Who is there?” called a squirrelly, high-pitched voice from inside the room. Xorgram ignored the call and cocked his head to the side.

“What happened?”

“I…I was…my team was slain,” Amtusk finally managed. “I am sorry.”

“
Slaughtered
? By who?” Xorgram stood with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for an explanation, but not pushing him. After a moment of silence, Amtusk spoke again.

“There was a group of strangers that came from the east beyond the Oakcrest Mountains,” explained the half- orc. “A battle followed and they…”

“And?” asked Xorgram. “How many of ye be left?”

“Me,” answered Amtusk. “The rest were killed. I saw the bodies.”

Xorgram could only shake his head. Before he could continue his questioning, there was the unmistakable sound of metal gears whirring followed by the sound of metal on stone. Xorgram craned his head around to witness the gnome inventor, Fuddle Mucklewink. His huge goggles rested upon his head, partially obscuring his auburn locks that were streaked with grey. 

From the waist up, he looked completely normal. But upon closer inspection, beneath his lower garments, was a pair of metal legs—mechanized ones that took the place of his lower extremities. The sound of whirring was the motorized chassis that powered his lower limbs.

“Stop makin’ all that noise, ye bucket o’ bolts!” Xorgram called back in a bluster, clearly in a sour mood after hearing the half-orc’s news.

“Perhaps you should call on Darmorn and have him pray to whatever gods he does to bring a downpour,” Fuddle suggested. The dwarf looked at him with an inquisitive expression. “To cover his tracks.”

“Aye,” agreed Xorgram with a nod as he spun back to stare at Amtusk as he raised an eyebrow. “Were ye followed?”

Amtusk merely shook his head. Xorgram looked up at him again with a troubled expression.

“I was
not
followed. I am sure of it,” stated the half-orc without hesitation.

Xorgram looked back at the gnome, who shrugged before burying his face back in a parchment.

“Give Darmorn the go-ahead. Can’t be too careful. I can’t be havin’ anything or anyone jeopardizin’ the work,” Xorgram explained. Amtusk bowed low in response to his leader’s command.

“I shall see to it,” Amtusk acknowledged coming out of his bow. As he turned away, he felt a stubby fingered hand grab his left arm and spin him around.

“We be needin’ to discuss things in more detail just as soon as I be done here,” Xorgram said. “I want to know who did that to me men.”

Amtusk nodded and headed back toward the landing and then quickly scaled the ladder. He also made a mental note that the elevator contraption was almost complete. Xorgram had Fuddle build it for two reasons—it would allow the workers to move things a bit more easily and safely to and from each level. It
also
would mean that the gnome would have an easier time of moving between the levels without the aid of Skuros or Kroskus. Fuddle claimed that it was a difficult endeavor, as his mechanical legs did not have the proper joint manipulation required to climb those ladders effectively. It was also why he almost never left his own quarters on the lower levels.

Amtusk made his way back out toward the main area of what used to be Hollow Hill’s village proper. He passed all of the buildings as well as the tiny demons placed there by Helene, the warlock, along with the few sentries standing at their posts. He continued on and made his way east toward the familiar area which accommodated a large cave mouth. Darmorn often spent time in the shapes of wild creatures—most notably, a dire bear, and often preferred the solitude that the cavern offered.

Amtusk shook the hanging metal bars that sounded lightly but were loud enough to indicate to the druid that a visitor had arrived. He walked inside and found the elf sitting, legs crossed over one another, praying or meditating, he could not tell which. There was a strong, permeating odor of alcohol that penetrated Amtusk’s nostrils.

Before he could consider it further, Darmorn glanced up to regard him, his dilated brown eyes locking with Amtusk’s own.

“I am needed?” Amtusk nodded.

“I have been sent with word from Xorgram. He requests that you call to the powers of nature and ask the gods to deliver rain to wash away all tracks in the area.”

“It shall be done. The Harvester shall heed my call,” said the elven druid. “Now go, this shall require much preparation.” With that, Darmorn took a swig of ale from his mug.

“Do yer best,” Amtusk stated as he headed out of the cave mouth and he passed Synewulf on his way out. They spoke not a word to each other. He was obviously visiting Darmorn to share ale with the druid. Legends of their alcoholism was something that had been spreading throughout the camp and it would not be much longer before the entire village knew.

This is some group you’ve assembled here, Xorgram
, thought Amtusk with a shake of his head as he continued along into the mines. He did not look forward to sharing the details of the failed heist with Xorgram.

Rogoth heard the voice again, calling to him in his thoughts. He was working in the mines today as requested by Skilgo Firehammer, the head miner. He could no longer deny the thing what it wanted, he decided.

“We need to work together,”
called the voice of Cyrza to his subject.
“I can give you everything that you have ever wanted and more!”

Perhaps there was a ring of truth to the voice calling to him from the amulet which Rogoth had not understood. It suddenly seemed like a good idea to him now. Besides, if he killed his wife, it would open up doors for him—perhaps Xorgram might even offer him a seat in the coven. Meliana was only holding him back from what he wanted—from what they
both
wanted, he decided.

“Yes, you must do it tonight.”
Cyrza echoed his thoughts.
“You must rid yourself of the one burden that stands in the way of your rise to power!”

“Yes…and she wants children!” Rogoth proclaimed with disdain to no one in particular. “How dare she ask such things of me when I am the one who knows what is best for us? I need to ascend to power,” he said aloud once more, drawing strange looks from his fellow worker on the platform beside him.