The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (65 page)

Saeunn fended off several well struck, powerful attacks from the heavy mace of her orc assailant, who seemed to know a good deal about melee. She continued to deflect them with the hilt and flat of her blades, but knew she could not keep it up much longer. The orc warrior was a very capable combatant, she admitted, somewhat admiring his prowess.

She decided on a new strategy. Quickly blocking the heavy mace with the flat of her blade once more, she allowed the orc to score a blow with its small shield, shoving her back. It slammed into her hard, and she rolled with the momentum, knocking her over. She dropped her sword and fell flat on her back, feigning unconsciousness as the orc approached to finish her.

Just as he raised his heavy mace for the killing blow, Saeunn lifted her foot straight up as hard as she could, hitting him squarely in the groin with her instep. He doubled over in pain and began to fall limply upon her. She immediately sprung to her feet, using her arms and legs as the impetus, and caught the orc as he fell into her. She caught his head solidly with both hands, holding him up.

She twisted his head around until it resisted and kept going, snapping his neck and dropping him to the ground.

She turned and surveyed her surroundings.

She witnessed in horror as a rather large orc leaped high into the air, landing atop the prone form of the half-ogre, Orngoth. Simultaneously, she heard the resounding and unmistakable snap of bone that reverberated throughout the huge chamber.

She snatched up her massive blade with both hands and ran off toward them as quickly as her legs would carry her.

Blow after blow rang out—hammer hitting staff and vice-versa. Sparks flew from the impact, with neither of the two combatants gaining any ground. For several rounds of blows, they exchanged forceful strikes with their respective weapons, neither of them scoring a hit on anything but the other’s weapon. They finally backed away from one another, simultaneously realizing their futility.

The shaman charged Garius again, trying to find an opening in his defenses, but he was denied repeatedly by
The Repentant
. Garius realized that the brief gift offered from the war-god was fading. He needed to formulate a new strategy.

He allowed the shaman to get close, allowing him another wide swing. But, this time he offered what looked to be a blocking motion and instead, sidestepped it. He reversed his grip on the hammer and slammed its handle into his enemy’s exposed gut.

Garius realized immediately the folly of his strike. It was like hitting solid stone. A backhand from the powerfully altered orc sent him reeling and he barely managed to hold onto his weapon. His armor withstood the blow, but the sheer force of the strike sent him stumbling away.

A repetition of inhumanly strong blows rained down upon him now. Garius finally released the grip on his hammer, again changing tactics in an attempt to defeat this creature. He recoiled under the mighty assault of the mutated orc, who seemed even more animalistic, its bone-like staff continually crashing down upon him, over and over. His blood-red armor was beginning to conform to the power of this creature’s blows.

Once more, he found himself faced with an opportunity with which he needed to employ the necromantic power of The Reaper. He uttered a prayer to the god of death, asking him once again for access to the deadly degenerative plane. As the gift was granted, he channeled that energy into a discharge of force that sent the shaman hurling away, landing with a thud several paces from him. Garius felt the energy leech a bit of the orc’s soul into him. He also knew he could not reach his weapon and decided instead to use this brief respite to launch another necromantic assault.

Standing once more, he began an invocation, directing the dark energies toward the shaman, who was still getting to his feet. The power welled up inside him, holding it until he could no longer contain it. With that, a loud crackling sound, accompanied by a strange dark-purplish radiance, burst forth from him. It completely consumed the shaman, eating away at his flesh and soul as the shaman’s spirits fought hopelessly to aid him.

But, it was to no avail.

The shaman was simply there one instant and gone the next, that same glow consuming his form as his life was consumed by the Inquisitor, wracking his body as he fell to his knees under the assault. The runes on his armor glimmered and then dimmed, over and over again. He convulsed from the effects of such a powerful necromantic spell for several minutes until he eventually regained his focus. 

All evidence of the shaman’s existence was eradicated except for a large antlered helmet that bounced on the stone floor, finally coming to rest near Garius. He stared at it and lamented the war that was raging between the Races of Order and the goblinoids.

“What malevolent instrument has poisoned your minds and made you act in such a way?” he asked rhetorically as he held the antlered helm in his hand. “I intend to find out.”

A dagger came out of nowhere, hitting the worg solidly in its left flank and causing a reactive yelp of pain. The blow also caused the beast to veer off target, just slightly, allowing Elec to roll under it and charge back toward the center of the room to recover his prized blade.

He peered out to detect the source of the throw. He saw Rose resting on one knee, and then he saw her fall forward again, in obvious pain. Something was wrong with her for sure. He was certainly glad she had returned—and none too soon!—but he had a more pressing issue that demanded his full attention.

The worg regained its footing and padded toward Elec, ignoring the dagger in its left side. Elec waited and then glimpsed his enchanted dagger,
Wyrm’s Fang,
on the ground to his right. He maneuvered that way. He quickly downed another series of potions and wiped the excess from his mouth. The worg came bounding toward him.

Elec dove behind a column of stone and realigned his direction toward his dagger. He landed and in one swift lunge, snatched it up. He sprang up, weapons in hand, just in time to fend off another attack using the hilt of
Wyrm’s Fang
in a timely downward
strike to hit the worg on the snout.

He swiped with his enchanted sword and followed it quickly with a dagger strike as his combinations seemed to be gaining speed now, his elixirs reaching their full effect. He landed a solid thrust to the beast’s left flank, close to where Rose’s dagger still hung.

Elec pressed the attack now, sensing the worg slowing bit by bit while he was gaining speed. He again streamed a steady series of repetitive strikes—dagger then sword, dagger then sword, again and again, until finally he had achieved a series of wounds that proved fatal to the worg.

It finally collapsed and Elec stepped away from the dying beast as it bled out. Then he stepped onto its side, firmly removed Rose’s dagger, wiping it clean on the worg’s pelt.

Elec relaxed a moment, drank another elixir to help treat his wounds, and then turned to see where Rose had gone. He scanned the room and saw her lying face down on the cavern floor.

He ran to check on her, hoping his battle with the worg would not prove her undoing.

Thaurion raced back to the cell and swung the heavy door open wide. Alana stood with a concerned look on her face and a spiked club in her hand, ready to place the spike through his chest until she recognized him for who he was and stopped.

“We are getting out of here,” Thaurion stated boldly. “There is a Faceless Knight here in this temple, stemming the tide of evil within this place!”

Alana’s face brightened as she dropped the club. The orc that sat in the cell, had a clear look of shock and consternation on his face.

“What about him?” Alana asked, pointing at the bound and recently gagged orc.

“We leave him,” Thaurion answered. “I am hoping that this Inquisitor can help us with Rolf’s condition.” The two priests went to Rolf’s side and prepared him as best they could to be moved.

The orc struggled against his ties as Alana and Thaurion slowly hauled Rolf out of the cell and placed him gently outside. Just as Rolf touched the ground, they heard a movement inside the cell.

Thaurion quickly slammed the cell door hard as he saw the orc, after having somehow freed himself, reach for that spiked club and charge the door. He slammed the door with all his might.

The door shut just as he reached the threshold and held firmly as he fell back onto the cold floor, yelling and cursing in the goblinoid tongue. Thaurion couldn’t hold back a smile as he slid the bolt across the doorframe and closed the peephole with a sense of accomplishment. Then he and Alana left with Rolf in tow.

“You will pay!” the orc yelled from behind the locked door. “The Dark Legion will devour your souls!”

They headed down the corridor and out of earshot as  quickly as they could manage.

Orngoth clutched at his broken shin. The bone had not broken the skin, but his leg dangled at a strange angle and the pain was intense, even for the half-ogre who had been tortured mercilessly in the past. Grubb had recovered his gem and once more taunted him with it.

“Is this yours?” he teased. “You won’t be needing it any longer.” Grubb laughed uncontrollably, and then stood close to Orngoth as the half-ogre tried ineffectively to grasp at him.

“I could have made you an officer,” Grubb scolded him, attempting to provoke yet more anguish from Orngoth. “You could have been my most powerful enforcer.”

Grubb spun round after saying that, wondering where exactly Tukk had gotten to. He gazed across the room, looking for any movement at all. He saw nothing but bodies and coins strung about in a canvas of blood, gold and gore.

No matter
, he thought, as he returned his attention to the broken half-ogre. Out of the corner of his left eye, he witnessed a man adorned in scarlet plated armor approaching. He strode with a purposeful gait toward the orc commander.

Grubb crossed his arms over his chest, shield and sword still held.

“You must be the abomination responsible for this,” Garius stated rhetorically.

“Abomination?” Grubb echoed him incredulously, arms spread wide now in an exaggerated posture. “I am merely defending myself from this creature.” He gestured with a grin at the obviously injured half-ogre.

“What about the acolytes that you hold hostage?!” Garius asked him a bit more emphatically, pressing the point.

“They are none of your concern,” Grubb shrugged, waving his blade threateningly now. “And if you mean to take them, it will be over my dead body.”