The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (110 page)

Three of the enemies approached him at once and he braced himself, uttering an invocation to The Watcher for a blessing of divine judgment. He remained still and brought forth a manifestation of divine energy in the shape of a three pronged hammer that crushed all three of his foes around him in one fell swoop.

He smiled and felt someone rushing his rear flank and held up his shield. He saw the reflection of one of the tiny kobolds charging him with a spear and spun on the draconic creature, bringing the full power of his hips into the blow with his bastard sword and severing its head. The body collapsed helplessly, falling forward into him. He shoved it to the ground with a thrust of his shield and looked for more enemies to smite.

And Figit not so much as saw, but rather felt a blast of frigid cold that reminded him of the bitter winters up north that came from Azbiel as the flames on the tinder turned to icicles just that quickly.

Azbiel saw the flames burst forth from the tinder and saw the two ladies kicking and screaming beneath their gags, their eyes wide with terror. They were still fastened tightly and uncomfortably to the stakes buried inside the conflagration. He did not have much choice in the matter if he wanted to save them. The flames that were licking at their flesh would turn them to liquid sludge in seconds.

He concentrated and pushed out a burst of wintry air from his hands, directed right at the pile of twigs and the women marked for sacrifice. The resulting effect was incredible, leaving a block of ice in place of the raging fire.  He wasn’t sure about the origins of the blaze, but it seemed to be borne of magic, too, but he couldn’t be sure. He could not give it careful consideration bearing in mind their predicament.

He was about to thaw the two girls, releasing them from the icy prison of his spell when he spotted a cultist was heading toward the inn, no doubt to tell those inside that things weren’t going as effectively as they’d originally hoped.

He raced after the man and stopped once he was within range. He cast a quick spell of holding on the man, freezing him in place. He then followed that up with a blast of necromantic energy that simply reduced the man to obscurity. Absolutely nothing remained of the cultist, not even ashes as the blackened beam fell over him.

Then he saw another of the kobolds heading toward the inn as well. He’d already shrouded the inn in thick mist and then decided that wasn’t enough.

“Enough’s enough,” he said to no one in particular.

 He summoned forth a bank of tangible, dense fog that caused the kobold’s progress to come to an almost complete halt. The creature was running forward at speeds that were laughable, which Azbiel did as a result. He turned to Figit to see if he was all right and then proceeded to encase the inn in the same thick fog and mist.

Advantage: us, I’d say
, he thought with a wide grin planted on his face.

The mage smiled at Figit and then turned to cast more enchantments around the inn, the fog seeming to thicken into a barricade of gloom. He was pretty sure he saw one of the kobolds go straight into the fog and immediately crawl to a halt.

Figit shook his head, parried a series of strikes from the kobold and tumbled around it, diving into a series of front flips until he made it to the creature’s exposed back. The draconic beast could not keep up with him and lost all sense as to where he’d gone. Figit reached around and with two outward strokes, sliced the front of the kobold’s neck wide open.

He watched Azbiel continue to work and admired how the mage could cast spells so effectively while under the influence of so much wine.

He dove between two oncoming cultists, drawing blood as he passed between both of them, maneuvered into and then out of a front roll, coming to his feet. Before the two could even turn, he was off and running again. He leaped atop one of the two men’s backs and the man pitched forward with the newfound weight.

As Figit passed by the other, he sliced the second one deftly across the throat. On the way down, still riding the man’s back, the halfling nimbly managed to pin the falling man’s arms as he fell to the floor, smashing his unprotected face against the hard ground. Figit maneuvered to stand atop the man just as he hit the ground and hopped off in one motion, tumbling forward.

He got to his feet just as Twarda slammed a kobold in the side of the head that was rushing toward him.

“Thanks,” he said with hands on hips before quickly reaching into his belt and producing three daggers. They were smallish throwing knives and well balanced at that, which he tossed one after the other at yet another attacker who had gained Twarda’s flank. Twarda spun away from them as they darted past. Her eyes were akin to saucers of jade at seeing the knives approach and then pass by harmlessly. They landed with loud thunks in the man’s chest.

“Warn me next time,” she advised in a gravelly voice.

“If I had the time to warn you, then you would have just defended yourself, silly,” Figit said with a wide grin.

Triniach had taken the bulk of them down with his lightning and the last one who approached him, a sword raised high in both hands, fell dead with but a word spoken by the mage.

“Ye’ll have to teach me that one, old man,” he said with a smile.

“Certainly. I merely told him to—“

“Don’t say it!” Figit said, covering his pointed ears. The halfling nodded in understanding and witnessed the charred remains of numerous cultists and kobolds that littered the ground around him. All of them were victims of the mage’s lightning bolts.

“Hey guys,” called a voice from behind them. “Maybe we should take care of the whole ‘bad guys at the inn’ problem?”

They all stood and then ran toward Azbiel as they saw a few more of the cultists and kobolds within the cloud of fog. They ran as if they were moving through molasses, Figit thought.

“Hold!” Triniach yelled to them and they all stopped. He began to cast a spell and without warning Figit felt his heart racing. “This will counter the effects of the thickening fog. You will be able to move at normal speeds within it. Now go.”

Figit ran like he was shot from a ballista! Until he hit the fog and then slowed to what he assumed was a ‘normal’ speed.

Mages!
He thought.
I love ‘em and I hate ‘em!

As he entered the fog, he could barely see within it, but he did manage to pick out an enemy here and there. He slashed and hacked and cut them down quickly. It seemed very silly to him just how slow they were moving. Azbiel remained outside; uttering an incantation that Figit assumed was keeping the fog going.

Twarda and Jon began to collect all of the villagers—all twenty of ‘em!—Figit saw, as they hacked down the remainder of the kobolds. Once the kobolds and cultists were dispatched, the fog seemed to disappear altogether. He noted many windows framed within walls of stone with floors of cobblestone. Tables were plenty and the bar was a dark color of some kind of wood that Figit did not recognize. There was a fireplace on one side of the room that was not lit, thankfully, as it was already too hot.

 He did note a dwarf, praying to himself in the corner of the inn and standing against the wall with…something…around him—it looked like a barely-shimmering magical shield of force. He noted that is shone dimly and pulsed, too. As a matter of fact, he wondered if anyone else could even see the barrier around him as it was very faint in its manifestation.

The dwarf was white of beard and hair and was dressed in the garb of a priest of one of the new Gods of Order. He didn’t know which. He didn’t keep up with that very much, but he did remember liking the sound of one of them—something about a goddess of luck! Now that was something that he could get on board with! This dwarf had a symbol of an eye on both his garments and on a chain that dangled loosely about his neck.

By the time Figit took his eyes off the priestly dwarf, all of the cultists and kobolds alike were either dead, unconscious, lying prone or otherwise nullified as threats. Azbiel finally came into the inn and strode right over to the bar, looking for more wine, no doubt while the others were aiding the villagers.

Jon walked right up to Azbiel and looked at him oddly. “Are you going to unfreeze those two women?”

“Sure. Just as soon as we get someone who can tend their wounds.”

“
I
can do that, brother. Or have you forgotten? I am a
paladin
; a
holy
warrior. Need I always remind you?” Azbiel mumbled something under his breath as the two of them strode right out of the inn to tend to the two almost-sacrificial tokens to the dragons.

“Can ya’ heal, priest?” Figit asked. The dwarf looked up at him and tried to back up, but hit the wall upon where he leaned instead. He nodded a confirmation.

“I can heal just fine. I be Morgrim, servant o’ The Watcher,” he offered with a polite bow. ”His eye guides me to where I’m ta’ be goin’.”

“So he sent you here for us, I take it?” Figit declared with wide eyes, hoping for an affirmation.

“That be a wise assessment, me lad,” said Morgrim, tugging on a thick column of hair that ran straight down from his chin and intermingled with the rest of his hair.