The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (76 page)

“Did you question their purpose!?” responded a guard standing to the queen’s right. She glared at him and he stood silently at attention once more, staring ahead.

“I did not! But, when they realized who our passenger was, he gave a command to take no prisoners. My soldiers fought valiantly, but we were outnumbered three to one. He took the princess and slaughtered my whole force,” Jorlin mentioned with a quiver in his voice. “Then he disappeared with the princess for some time as they held me captive, beaten and battered. The orc returned some time later with this message and bid me hand it directly to you.” Jorlin held out a parchment with an official seal upon it.

Queen Lynessa stood and walked directly over to him and retrieved the parchment. She studied the seal and knew, as Jorlin did, that it was the official seal of Wothlondia—the dragon mark of Ashenclaw. She broke the seal, unraveled the parchment and read the note silently to herself, and then read it aloud.

“Dearest Lynessa,

Though you don’t know me, I am aware of you and your history as well as that of your late husband’s family. I hold your daughter, kindly at the moment, and will continue to keep her safe as long as you abide by these conditions. You are to provide me the ancient magical hammer of the Pridemoons. I will give you until the first of Nature’s Call to acquire the item and to deliver it to my point of contact in the gypsy village of Semmeroth. Make no move to find him as he will find you.

If you comply with these demands, your daughter will be sent to Semmeroth unharmed and safe within a week of my receiving the item. Do not attempt to stray from these demands or send anyone to find your daughter. I have eyes all over Wothlondia’s many regions, including Shindar, and any sign of aggression or non-compliance will meet in an unfortunate conclusion to your daughter’s life. I am not a violent man, but make no mistake—I am a man of my word, so I solicit you to heed my words—do not force my hand.

X”

Queen Lynessa rubbed her eyes in apparent disbelief. She screamed in frustration and Jorlin watched as she fell to her knees, crumbling the parchment.

“Jorlin, you have failed to keep my daughter safe and are therefore stripped of your knighthood and title as an officer of the Norgeld Watch. You may work in the city as a common laborer and will never again—”

“My queen,” interjected a warm voice from the shadows behind the throne. Lynessa spun to face an old and withered face. Jorlin knew it to be Heramon, the brother of Alabaster Pridemoon, her late husband. “Please let us discuss it with the assembly before you decide the fate of this man and the plan of action against the captors of your daughter,” pleaded Heramon. “Please, my lady,”

Lynessa regarded her brother-in-law and immediately nodded, believing his counsel to be wise as he helped her to her feet.

“Very well,” Lynessa affirmed. “Take Jorlin below to the dungeons until we decide his fate. We shall meet directly to decide on both of these pertinent matters.”

“The dungeons, my lady?” Heramon echoed.

She shot Heramon a look, and he, in turn, pursed his lips and shook his head at Jorlin.

With that, the guards at either side of the queen moved to take Jorlin below while she and Heramon whispered behind them. It would not be long before they determined the fate of Jorlin Walden.

The goblin Barguth finally had the barbarian village of Chansuk in his sights and pulled tightly on the reins of his worg. Long had he desired a warm bed to sleep in, but great also was his fear of what Chieftain Kelgarek might do to him when he gave him the unfortunate news. News that focused on the recent failures of Commander Grubb and his unit. Barguth shivered involuntarily and it was not from the strong breeze blowing in his face.

His worg galloped hard, panting and obviously tired, but a respite was at hand as the goblin recognized the gruesome sight of barbarian heads on pikes adorning the exterior of the village of Chansuk in the distance. 

As he neared he saw the familiar palisade made of dried logs that surrounded the village and backed up to the River Thrice. Behind the river, the lands were covered in marshland. And that marshland was exactly where the orc and goblin forces had attacked, for the barbarians had weak defenses and little to no gated expanse there. They had not expected a force would traverse not only the swamp and its inhabitants, but also the river, so full of strong currents that had washed many a victim out to sea. Those factors were why the barbarians did not consider it a vulnerable position.

The remains of Chansuk were being refashioned to the likings of the goblinoids as the orcs of the Bonemasher clan labored in conjunction with the Bloody Fangs goblin tribe. This was all being coordinated by Kelgarek, and the goblin king, Kogh, whom Barguth had not seen for many months. While the orcs and goblins had been recruited separately, Barguth recalled that King Kogh had spoken of a dark warlord that had come to him and convinced him of the advantages of combining forces with the orcs. Soon after, the goblin and orc forces were indeed united under the leadership of both Chieftain Kelgarek and King Kogh, though Kogh had taken a backseat to the more forceful orc chieftain.

Barguth also remembered that in the last month of the year 66 PA, Winter’s Veil, the Bonemashers and Bloody Fangs together had conquered the barbarian village of Chansuk. It was to be the first of many such victories, Barguth was told. He’d also heard rumors that the new combined force was being referred to as the
Dark Legion
.

“Barguth!” exclaimed a goblin in a shrill tone from the wall, pulling him from his reveries. Orc and goblin archers and scouts perched on top of a few of the taller structures that remained standing could be seen waving instructions to one another. They fired a warning shot Barguth’s way, as was customary, and at the same time a small contingent of goblin cavalry was sent to intercept him.

The worg began to pad a bit softer as Barguth gave a tug on the reins. The greeting party was on him quickly forming a semi-circle of fur, fangs and red eyes around him.

“Tell us! Whatcha’ doin’ here!?” asked one of them in their native tongue.

“Yer
alone
?” enquired another.

Before Barguth could get a word out, he saw a figure standing at the gates of the village and recognized the all-too-familiar, double-sided spear of King Kogh, adorned with feathers and odd fetishes at the shaft’s center. The spear was also stained with the dried blood of his victims near both the pointed ends, for Kogh was a capable warrior and liked to remind others of that fact—especially the orcs.

As Barguth closed the gap, he noticed the helm of the goblin king, an ornate and gemmed circlet that sat atop his green-skinned head, full of thick tangled hair, the color of a raven’s feathers. He watched the king twirl the spear in his hands, faster and faster, switching back and forth as he did, faster still, until the spear looked like a blur, and then he suddenly jammed it into the soft ground. Another display to all watching that the fierce goblin, tiny though he may be, could handle his weapon skillfully.

“Commander Grubb and the unit are dead,” Barguth finally admitted to Kogh as his mount came to rest at the feet of his king. “Gone. All of them, I’d say.”

“Kelgarek will not be happy,” Kogh stated bluntly to Barguth as he spun on his heel and entered the village of Chansuk. The gate swung wide and Barguth could see more familiar faces within, fellow goblins of the Bloody Fang tribe. They were performing duties, chatting, throwing things at one another and largely carrying on.

Barguth followed his king into the village and the goblin cavalry escorted his mount to the kennels for food and shelter as evenfall was soon approaching.

“Mind him well, he is mending wounds,” Barguth cautioned them as they led his worg away.

Kogh took Barguth down the as yet unfamiliar pathways of Chansuk until they came to a huddled mass of orcs gathered around one particular and well-built hut. It was one of the few that remained fully intact since the attack that wiped out the barbarians. The animal hides that served as the door swung away and a rather large, copper-hued orc emerged, with huge tusks framing either side of his wide set jaw. His eyes reflected a sinister, red glow in the fading sunlight behind Barguth. Barguth swallowed, or rather tried to, but found he had no saliva.

Chieftain Kelgarek, all three hundred plus pounds and nearly seven foot frame of him, stood before Barguth. A double-bladed axe, whose head was twice the size of Kelgarek’s own, was strapped to the massive orc’s back. Kelgarek was not only strong of muscle, his mind was quite possibly one of the sharpest of all the orcs, Barguth knew, which added to his dread with regards to their imminent meeting.

“You bring news?” Kelgarek began. “Last thing known to me, all was well. What happened, little goblin?”

Barguth noticeably cringed and almost turned to flee, except that his king, who stood behind him, gave him a slight nudge to stand his ground.

“I…uh, Commander Grubb, he…he is…well, dead,” Barguth finally confessed.

Kelgarek turned away from the crowd, clearly not wanting or allowing any of the orcs to witness his boiling rage. He finally recovered after a lengthy pause and Barguth stood silently, awaiting the questions that would follow. Kelgarek’s muscles finally slowed their quivering.

“I…,” began the chieftain, and then appeared to shift his train of thought when he continued. “So, not only did we lose my finest and most loyal officer, my highest-ranking shaman, and an entire squad of orc and goblin warriors, but you are telling me that we do not have the prisoners either!?”

Barguth nodded ever so slightly.

“Speak!”

Barguth nodded again, more plainly, croaking the words, “yes, Lord Kelgarek.”

Kogh moved from behind Barguth in order to gain a better vantage point to witness the exchange. Barguth was unsure how Kelgarek was going to handle the situation. The mighty orc chieftain roared in indignation and in one motion removed his huge axe from his back and swung it in a downward chop, driving it into the ground right beside the frightened goblin, whose eyes shut in anticipation of the blow.

Barguth slowly opened his eyes and realized that he yet lived, despite soiling himself. He noticed also that Kelgarek had disappeared back into his hut, and that the massive double-bladed axe was still buried in the ground beside him. Kogh was smiling a wide grin.

“You yet live to fight another day, Barguth,” Kogh observed to him as he twirled around his spear and then jammed it into the ground, holding onto it with one hand. “Now we will have to see how the Dark One handles the news.”

“The Dark One must know?” Barguth asked fretfully. He had heard tales of the one called Zabalas, clad in his mighty armor that was as black as the darkest caverns of the Subterrane, and who could kill any creature with one swing of his blade. If Kelgarek obeyed the man without question, then he was truly a force to be reckoned with, he supposed, terrified by that potential scenario and what it might hold for him.

Barguth managed to look back at King Kogh who snickered slightly.

“What?” Barguth asked as he moved closer to his king.

“If Kelgarek loses the favor of the Dark One, then who do you think will replace him?” Kogh replied rhetorically, adjusting the makeshift crown that sat atop his head and smiling even wider. His yellow teeth escaped his mouth as he grinned at Barguth and his amber eyes broadened with delight, obviously taking great pleasure in Kelgarek’s incompetence and the possibilities that may ensue.

Barguth stood staring at his king and let the information sink in. Then he smiled a little too and looked toward the hut of Kelgarek, then to the orc chieftain’s massive axe that remained wedged in the ground and then back to Kogh once more. The two of them kept their crooked smiles going as they slapped each other on their respective backs.

“Come with me to my hut and we will share drinks!” Kogh declared, tapping Barguth on the backside with the shaft of his spear. “And we can get you some clean wears. Those just won’t do.”

Barguth nodded and followed his once respected, and possibly soon-to-be-reigning-king, back to his hut.

Xorgram made his way down into the first series of mineshafts, walking past many a miner within who worked vigorously to prospect the ebonite ore. He climbed down the scaffold and ladder, passing his own private quarters as he did, down to the lower landing of that particular shaft. He continued, climbing down ladder to landing, ladder to landing multiple times, climbing deeper and deeper into the mineshafts.

Xorgram privately wished that Fuddle’s elevator designs would be finished already as the constant climbing was inconvenient, especially when hauling the ore to the surface. He cleared his mind and headed with purpose into a certain area of the mines that Xorgram and the coven had converted into cells all the way at the bottom of the mineshaft. One of those cells held a particularly important prisoner. As he closed in on his destination, he heard the snorts and the familiar, gruff voice of the massive taur, Skuros Brax, yet another member of the coven, who helped Xorgram in his rule over the Blackstone Brotherhood.

As he rounded the bend, the bullheaded Skuros came into view, swinging his trademark spiked ball and chain combo wildly over his head, smashing it hard into the iron cell bars. He did so again, while barking something in the taur language that Xorgram did not quite understand, though the tone was unmistakably hostile. Having been around the taur these past few years, both Skuros and Kroskus, he had managed to discern some of their language, but most of it translated into curses and the like. He smiled at their simplicity as he approached slowly and, as he neared, he saw his prisoner within the cell.

Princess Amara sat with her legs crossed on the floor, her garb filthy, no hint of the royal bloodline from which she was birthed. It was hard to believe that an heir apparent of one of the five major cities would accept her situation without much protest, but that was how it had been for the several months that she had been in captivity. She paid no heed to the massive taur, whose ferocity had not disturbed her meditative state, nor had she complained about her surroundings at all, for that matter.

In her cell were several trays of uneaten and partially eaten food, a jug of water and a pair of dimly flickering candles that she kept near the rear of the space for lighting. She was evidently in a deep trance of some kind and Skuros was not having the effect on her that he desired. The taur was frustrated and Xorgram sensed it. No taur of any kind was ever easily ignored, for the half-beasts were not only frightening in appearance, but were intimidating in every sense.