The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (107 page)

“Aye,” Xorgram nodded, and then turned to regard the pile of goods that Krewel’s company had procured and nodded again to that heap. “Take anythin’ ye want from there ta start. And then I’ll be makin’ up the difference if there be needin’ any.”

Grogo handed him the hammer and presented a grin full of yellowed teeth.

Krewel turned a head toward Xorgram as if to challenge him, but Xorgram held the Pridemoon Hammer aloft in both hands.

“This’ll more’n make up for it!”

“What’s the plan movin’ onward? Amtusk left and we been discovered,” Krewel mentioned bluntly.

“We’re ta keep doin’ what we been doin’,” replied Xorgram. Several others overheard the conversation and gathered around to hear their leader speak.

“All o’ ye need ta be understandin’ that nothin’s set ta be changin’! Amtusk left and he be allowed ta, just like any of ye. This be a brotherhood—not a prison,” he confirmed, drawing nods of approval from those gathered. He caught the eyes of Cassia, who smiled and nodded at him, too, evidently agreeing with it all.

“What we be needin’ is ta fortify our defenses and makin’ sure that no one gets up that path without us knowin’,” Xorgram said, pointing to the winding path that led up to Hollow Hill’s gates. All in attendance signaled an affirmation again. “So…what ye be standin’ around fer? We got plans ta be makin!”

The gathered crowd cheered, seeming to respond to the charismatic speech. Even Grogo clapped lightly and nodded to the dwarf, and then approached him.

“This will be sufficient,” the assassin said, holding a fistful of gems. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, my lord.”

“I’ll be sendin’ word if I be needin’ yer services again,” Xorgram said as Cassia stood beside him. He turned away from the assassin, slapped Cassia lightly on her rear and led her into the mines.

Barguth watched the mighty warlord enter the gates of Chansuk alone and on his demon horse. At least, that’s what Barguth thought of the thing.

It looked to him and snorted smoke, as if it sensed his thoughts. Kogh stood beside him and they watched Zabalas dismount and stride right into Kelgarek’s hut. The guards moved inside and reappeared a moment later with Kelgarek behind them.

The goblins both stood and listened as the man spoke from beneath his black helm, his speech void of emotion.

“I see you have returned victorious in your mission?”

Kelgarek bent his knee and bowed his head before Zabalas. “I have taken what is mine,” he started to say and the armored figure bid him to stand.

“Aye, you seem to have amassed an even greater number than before. That is most satisfying to know, because you will need to make use of them.”

Barguth and Kogh both moved in closer to listen.

“You will be making your way east with the entire force.”

This claim drew murmurs from the surrounding throng as Zabalas continued.

 “You are to take the village of Oreon next. I want you to make it our own camp, just as you have done here.”

One of the orcs beside Kelgarek looked to him and voiced a negative comment in the orcish tongue. Zabalas withdrew his wicked blade and flames engulfed the steel in a violet hue as he drove the point of his weapon into the orc’s chest, passing right through bone and flesh as if they were not there.

He held the blade there and Barguth watched in awe as the blood that had begun to pour forth was sucked into the flames of the blade and then vanished. Within seconds, the orc hung lifelessly to the blade, its blood all but drained. Zabalas yanked the blade free and the orc fell to the ground with a thud.

“Silence your dogs or you will need to usurp another rival’s crown sooner than expected,” Zabalas warned in a measured tone.

Kelgarek nodded. “Apologies. I shall do as you command.”

With that, Zabalas climbed atop his demonic steed and galloped off into the fading sun.

Barguth approached the deceased orc sentry and poked it with the tip of his sword and it felt hard. Before he could do anything else though, another orc, his companion sentry, snarled at Barguth.

The goblin backed up and watched as the guard and another two nearby orcs combined to carry the deceased body away, most likely to be burned in the fires later this evening, as was their custom.

Kelgarek said nothing more and disappeared into his hut with a few of the other orcs and ograthi, then reappeared and gestured for Kogh to enter.

Barguth watched Kogh go into the tent and decided to put an end to the rumbling in his belly. He was hungry and the goblinoids were cooking up an unknown meat from something the hunters brought back earlier in the day. He strode off to sate his hunger as plans were being laid inside the hut of Kelgarek—plans that would forever change the rulership of Wothlondia…one way or another.

“Welcome,” Rolin Hardbeard heard as he peered down at a guardsman from atop his horse. He ordered the horse to sit, which took a bit of coaxing. He spat curses under his breath and waited for the horse to lower itself so that he could slide off the back as he always did.

Rolin had just arrived in Norgeld with a contingent of near fifty knights from Oakhaven’s Watch. They were dismounting and sending their horses to stable as they stood before the façade of the magnificent Pridemoon castle.

The Pridemoon family had a history of sovereignty, even before the Reign of Ashenclaw turned Wothlondia into a desolate wasteland. The Pridemoons were a kind and generous family and Alabaster gave his kingdom over to Lynessa when he passed, knowing she would continue the legacy of fair rulers in Norgeld.

“Follow me, my lord,” said a Norgeld guardsman.

“Enough with the ‘me lord’ nonsense,” Rolin reprimanded.

A contingent of his men followed him into the castle. They made their way into the massive antechamber, the entirety of Oakhaven’s visiting knights was present with room to spare. They continued down a great hall and stood before the door to the throne room.

“Well, open it!” Rolin barked to the man who nodded to the two sentries outside the room. They moved aside and opened the door.

The doors swung wide and inside the poorly lit structure Rolin could make out a figure sitting relaxed upon the throne, a small counsel at her side. The only light came in sparsely through small windows and one high up on the wall behind the throne. As he approached, an elderly gentleman emerged from the shadows and Rolin recognized the familiar face and deep blue eyes of Heramon Pridemoon, the deceased king’s brother.

Before Rolin could speak to Heramon, he heard a shrill voice. It seemed to originate from the queen’s throne, but the dwarf did not recognize the voice as that of Lynessa Pridemoon.

“You come to me hoping for peaceful tidings when my daughter is yet missing!?” Lynessa shrieked, rising from her throne and moving forward on unsteady legs. “
And
you expect me to offer my own knights to sate the barbarians of Chansuk when my own flesh and blood is absent from my side?”

Rolin could not understand the level of hostility in her voice and stepped forward to address her. He listened as his men proceeded to follow him into the colossal throne room.

As he approached, Lynessa revealed herself from the shadows. She looked haggard at best. She appeared as if her servants hadn’t bathed or attended her in weeks.

“What be the meanin’—”

Suddenly the queen threw her head back and cackled maniacally, further disorienting the dwarf. At that moment, Rolin heard whispers, though he was unclear if they were coming from his head or from the recesses of the room. He tried to focus his vision—the combination of darkness and strong sunlight beaming in through the windows did not help—and he was distracted by the sound of steel on steel.

Fighting!? From where?!
Rolin thought. When he regained his vision clearly, he witnessed in horror as his own men were fighting one another.

“What madness be this!?” Then he saw them in the shadows, striding forward, whispering commands to his men—
Succubi!

 There were at least a dozen or so of them and Rolin felt a twinge of dread. His men were slaughtering each other at the whims of these demons and he could do nothing about it. All of his tactical sense, all of his strength, wisdom and experience, meant nothing against the supernatural powers of these denizens of Pandemonium.

“A den of demons!? Wha—”

“Silence!” cried another booming voice from the shadows, quieting the dwarf. Another demoness emerged from the shadows behind the throne. She was larger than the others, and with larger wings that seemed to move continually.

“Your untimely visit here has cost you your men, dwarf,” she said calmly and quietly, striding toward him and sending an impulse to his mind.

“Bend your knee, dwarf.”

Rolin tried to resist and pushed the mental command away initially, but it came back again and again. He stood quivering as sweat formed on his face and beneath his heavy beard. Finally, he stooped to one knee before her, a look of ferocious disdain etched on his face.

“That’s a good dwarf,” she teased, bending low to stare face to face. “I own you now. I am the Aspect Nahemia Sine, of the Daughters of Asmodai…you will do well to learn well my name, dwarf.” She stood up straight and laughed heartily, returning Rolin his free will.

He stood and removed his weapon from his belt, meaning to bury his axe head in the demoness. But before he could move, his own surviving men surrounded him.

“Step aside!” he bellowed. Not one of them moved.

“All you have to do is kill them, dwarf,” Nahemia suggested. He looked to her and saw that Lynessa stood beside her, hugging her about the waist as a child would her mother. “I won’t even have them defend themselves. Just cut them down and you can make your way to me.”

Rolin loosened the grip on his axe, knowing that she was toying with him. He tried a different tactic instead. “Do what ye will ta me, but let me men go. They deserve a better fate than yer offerin’.”

“I’m afraid we cannot do that,” she said to him, and then directed a command to the others in the room. “Take our prisoner below to the dungeons.”

Rolin’s own guardsmen—men he’d known and trained with for years—seized him roughly and tossed him to the ground, placing manacles about his wrists. Some of the guards had wounds that would soon turn fatal if they were uncared for, but none of them had the capacity to understand their dire peril.

“Let ‘em go!”

Rolin was shoved and forced out of the room, and the only sound he could hear coming from the hall was the mocking sound of harmonious cackling from the demoness, the queen, and her entire court.

Rolin sat alone, anger mounting and dissolving in cycles. He’d been in his cell for…how long he did not know, he realized. A day? Maybe two? He could not tell how much time had passed. He was beginning to see things, too, as delirium clouded his sensess.

 He stood and yelled for someone to come to him, but no one came. He gripped the bars tightly and shook them, but his ancient muscles could not budge the iron. He was hungry, but did not even care to eat.

Finally, a light appeared in the passage, stealing away the darkness, and a figure passed a tray of foodstuff beneath his cell door. He made the figure out to be someone of his own height and thought that one of his own kin had come to set him free.

“Eat, dwarf. Ye’ll be needin’ yer strength if ye want ta live,” called a voice veiled behind the light of a torch. The figure pulled it back and revealed his face to Rolin, who gasped audibly.

“Slagfell bastard!” Rolin barked, realization flooding over him that there was much more going on in Norgeld than met the eye.

Succubi
and
slagfell!

“What sort of betrayal are ye plannin’ now, traitor?!” called Rolin toward the figure that moved quietly away from him and into the shadows of the passage.

As the slagfell’s footsteps faded into silence, Rolin sat alone in the darkness with his own troubled thoughts. Despair washed over him and he wondered if he would survive long enough to get answers to his questions.

So
many
questions.

Tower of Torment

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