The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (93 page)

“Here, I ain’t no king. I be mentor, miner an’ advisor—but I be no king. Me people be here cuz they
want
ta—not cuz of their bloodline.”

“Whatever you say,
my
king
,” she said sarcastically, pulling the dwarf on top of her as she fell backward onto the linens of his bed. He kissed her deeply, quickly forgetting the memories of his troubled past.

Jorlin Walden’s thoughts turned to the item he carried in his rucksack, strapped to his back. He bore with him the Hammer Pridemoon, an ancestral artifact and magical hammer with qualities of great value, especially to smithies, or so he was told.

He was instructed to remain silent about it until he arrived safely in Semmeroth. His queen was irate and the council had given him this chance at redemption. He meant to make good on it. Heramon Pridemoon had spoken up on his behalf and provided him this second opportunity to obtain forgiveness and honor. He would not disappoint the brother of King Alabaster Pridemoon, nor would he disgrace the city of Norgeld any longer.

He figured once he was there, he’d meet the unscrupulous envoy, best him in combat, and command him to take them to Amara. Once he found her, he would free her from her captivity, or die trying. If he brought her back safely, the queen would throw a feast in his name, and more importantly, he would no longer have to live in shame, reclaiming his knighthood.

He galloped on, giving his horse a kick in the side and spurring it on. Thoughts of a glorious return occupied his mind and he could think of nothing that would satisfy him more.

He felt the reassuring pommel of his longsword at his side and recalled the years of preparation it took to become a knight. He thought fondly of his ascendancy within the knighthood, of becoming a member of the Norgeld Watch and, eventually, a chosen member of the Royal Blood Guard, assigned to watch over the castle and its nobility. He remembered the rigorous training and many years of service, numerous decorations in battle, and countless achievements that preceded his status to the Royal Blood Guard.

All of this gave him the confidence that he could handle a simple fool who wanted to abscond with the Pridemoon’s treasured family heirloom.
Not this day
, Jorlin thought.
Not this day or any other, as long as I draw breath.

He squeezed the reins on the horse and spurred it on.

Zabalas finally glimpsed the face of the southernmost section of the North Peaks Mountains. The magnificent range occupied a good portion of the northeastern section of Wothlondia, overlooking the Eastern Sea. It was a vast range, running hundreds of miles along the Shindar region, hugging the coastline.

Zabalas saw it come into view as the powerful mount beneath him tirelessly closed the distance.

“It won’t be long now,” Zabalas said, looking down upon the head of the magnificent magical beast. The creature was called a ‘Nightmare’—a mythical beast born of solid shadow, with hooves of smoke and eyes of fire.

Zabalas had not stopped for days as he hunted his prey, leaving the city of Chansuk in pursuit of the next phase of his plan. The sun hovered overhead and he raised his eyes to stare up toward it disdainfully, loathing the thing and all it represented—life, heat, optimism, healing, warmth—all traits and ideals of the weak. It reminded him of his former life.

A misguided and foolhardy former life, at that
, he recollected.

He narrowed his eyes and grimaced before returning his attention to the suddenly soft and flexible terrain of Shindar, a paradoxical surface when compared to the rocky stuff of Stonehill to the south.

His Nightmare thundered along, faster now, and he was quickly to the base of the southernmost tip of the range. He sensed his prey, deep within the tunnels below, considered the mountain’s most perilous passageways. He set his mind to gaining the precious dragon blood his Wayfarer required. Any and all that stood in his way would meet with an untimely death.

He dismounted, landing nimbly upon the gravelly soil despite the heavy ebon-shaded armor. The Nightmare remained unmoving as he entered a concealed passage that soon turned gloomy and all but void of light. He witnessed remains as he proceeded further into the Subterrane, bones and gore littering the passages.

Zabalas removed his helm and fastened it to his belt. He reached for his ornately detailed hilt and removed the wicked blade from its scabbard. The length of the steel immediately burst into the familiar violet flames that danced about its edges, bathing the cavern in the colorful glow. He also stopped to remove the shield that was strapped to his back, a massive piece of blackened steel with the façade of a demon etched in relief upon its surface, sharpened tips scattered about it. He strapped it to his left forearm and continued, navigating the tunnels expertly, knowing his route without question.

He progressed at a steady descent, moving through the strangely inactive passageways until he came upon a certain grotto, well below the surface level of the mountain. He could hear the dripping of moisture from stalactites above, echoing loudly as they fell into the pools of water somewhere within the stony shelter. As he closed in on the sound, he could hear running water, too.

He could hear his prey inside the spacious cavern, squawking and moving about. He heard their clawed feet scurrying across the floor and the unmistakable flapping of their leathery wings as they attempted to take flight. As he climbed a side passage, he finally made it to a vantage point overlooking them.

There was something magical in the room that shed light in random places—quite possibly enchanted objects from a time before man. It was evident that no mortal had stepped foot in here for decades, possibly centuries.

Light flickered from the surface of many gems, trinkets and other articles of interest scattered about the grotto, catching the eerie light and intensifying it.

Who knows how long these things have been here?
Zabalas mused.

There were dozens of black-scaled dragons, all of them young and nowhere near full-grown. They huddled amongst each other and fed on whatever seafood was living in the waters here in the lower portions of the mountains where a river cascaded through.

They were exactly where he said they’d be
, Zabalas confirmed.
Venomous drakes. They yet live.

Their blackened scales shimmered, intermixing with the light cast from the items scattered about the floor. None of them seemed to notice the figure standing high above them, flaming sword in hand.

Zabalas climbed back down the path and willed the flames of his weapon to diminish. Slowly he made his way down and to the back of the cavern.

And then he waited.

Xorgram awoke to the sound of banging upon his door. Cassia was already getting dressed, strapping her rapiers around her waist. She then pulled a leather vest beset with tightly spaced, fastened metal studs over her chest and torso. He must have dozed off after the telling of his tale and the subsequent lovemaking session with Cassia, who peeked over her shoulder at Xorgram.

“Are you gonna get that…or should I?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Again, the knock on the door sounded, harder this time, paired with a muffled voice—a feminine voice judging by the sound. Xorgram nodded, threw on a pair of linens and swung the door wide.

It was Helene. She looked about and forced her way into the room past Xorgram, ignoring Cassia and the entirety of the scene. She collapsed into a chair near his desk in the far corner of the room. She was followed by a red-skinned imp that flew silently past Xorgram and Cassia to land on her shoulder. It coughed, made a few infernal utterings in her ear, and then began rubbing its gruesomely misshapen head while Helene caught her breath.

“What be the meanin’ of this!?” Xorgram asked, pulling on his leather trousers. He finished before she answered and moved to stand over her. He thrust out his barrel-like chest, complete with a smattering of grey hairs that stood out amongst a sea of black.

“Well…out with it!”

“There is something you must know,” she began as the imp took to the air to land atop a bookcase, cleaning the forked end of its tail. Helene dropped her face in her hands and her raven-black hair dangled loosely to the floor.

“There is a demon among us,” she finally spoke, convincingly enough to have Cassia move closer to the conversation.

“And where be this…
demon
?” Xorgram asked doubtfully, rubbing the chin beneath his thick beard.

“It is what has been causing the problems here of late! It is what controlled Rogoth…made him try to kill his wife! And it is also what has been causing the miners to act out,” said the warlock, struggling to explain it all.

“So yer tellin’ me that a demon be causin’ all of this?!” Xorgram asked incredulously, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

Helene looked up to Xorgram finally, locking eyes with his good one and nodded. “You need to get rid of it.”

Xorgram looked the warlock over carefully, her pale, thin form disappearing in the folds of the oversized black robe she wore loosely about her frame, but he could notice her shivering beneath it.

Her behavior was uncommon, as she was known to speak of—and
to
—demons regularly. She performed black magic and talked reverently of the demoness, Hecate, if he recalled correctly. He was unsure what to make of the whole thing.

“This…demon,” Cassia began, sounding as skeptical as Xorgram, “it is something more powerful than you? You cannot control it?”

Helene looked to Cassia as if noticing her there for the first time, then she narrowed her eyes as she finally spoke.

“The thing of which I speak contains the soul of a significant demon. It is an avatar of Sammael, one of the demon lord’s very own soldiers within the hierarchy of Pandemonium. Its name is Cyrza. He is an instrument of destruction! It is trapped within a gem that dangles from a length of chain. I have secured it inside my chambers, locked away. I am familiar with this as I have been visited by Hecate’s own avatar who warned me against the treacheries of the demon lord of Hubris,” Helene said simply. “She warded me against this demon, but heed my warning: it shall find more of you and force you down paths that will end in death or damnation.”

The warlock stood and ambled toward the door, and then looked back to regard the dwarf. “I have warned you, Xorgram. Please take this news into serious consideration.”

With that, the warlock left the room, followed by the crimson-skinned imp that flew quickly after her.

“Paths of death and damnation, huh?” Cassia said, raising her eyebrows suspiciously at first. Xorgram remained grim-faced. “It is something you might want to consider, I suppose.” She turned to watch Xorgram finish getting dressed and he finally nodded his consent.

“Aye, something, all right. She might be a bit touched, but I don’t be doubtin’ her. I be goin’ ta see Fuddle now,” Xorgram said as he stood in contemplation. Then he caught her still staring, and added, “I’m thinkin’ I better be seein’ yerself here this evenin’, or there’ll be damnation in yer future, too.”

She smiled back at him, winked, and disappeared, leaving behind an anxious and contemplative dwarf.

Zabalas yanked his blade from the severed neck of one of the venomous drakes that had wandered close to him. The thing was the size of a small horse and was only recently born, he estimated.

During the course of achieving his goal, he had succeeded in filling several large vials with the lifeblood of this particular young dragon. He managed to repeat this exact feat over as another of the black-scaled beasts shuffled clumsily his way, perhaps somehow sensing him beneath his magically enhanced suit of ebon steel. He sliced the neck of the fledgling dragon, as this filled the purpose of both silencing the thing as well as producing large amounts of blood from a plentiful source.

He held the beast close to the vial, catching a large percentage of its lifeblood and wiping the remaining essence on his lips and licking them clean. He very much liked the taste, he considered.

Zabalas held up five large vials of the liquid and figured that to be enough before stowing them away within several belt pouches at his front. As he was carefully stowing the last flask away, he heard a roar that seemed to shake the cavern. It was so feral and stentorian in nature that Zabalas had to cover his ears.