The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (103 page)

Nothing matched it, he realized, understanding what Shardrin the Scoundrel was trying to teach him those many years ago when he taught Elec the handling of sword and dagger.

His thoughts went then to his father briefly and then to his mother, Alaise. He missed her, he realized, and also his uncle. He even missed his siblings at that moment.

“One day soon, perhaps, we shall see them again,” he suggested to the eagle with an affectionate pat on its side. He urged Adok along, faster and faster, until Elec’s face was red with the burn as he cut through the teeth of the chilling wind.

Orngoth lay uncomfortably upon a bed as herbalists and priests alike observed the strange angle at which his left leg had come together. There was a clear bend in the shin, as if mending improperly without aid of a splint.

Orngoth was there at the appeal of Garius, who asked him to seek out counsel from these folks about the broken bones he’d received at the hands of the orc commander, Grubb. His left shin had been snapped in half less than a month ago and it was completely healed, aided some by the healing powers of the Inquisitor and the acolytes of The Shimmering One. And yet, it had mended completely of its own accord. Not only that, but he had been using it at full capacity.

He sat there patiently and quietly, his muscular frame beginning to wear a divot in the bedding.

“Impossible,” commented one man, holding a small, rounded piece of glass at the end of a stick that made his face look funny when Orngoth stared up at him.

“And yet, that is the truth of it,” stated another man, with a beard that dangled to the middle of his chest. The crowd parted way as a priestess of The Shimmering One entered the congregation and moved forward. Her white robes flowed along the ground while she walked and it seemed to Orngoth that she was gliding along the ground. Her hair was as black as pitch and her face was not the pale white of most humans, but slightly darker and more exotic. He knew she was not from Oakhaven as he sat still upon the bed, lying back and resting his weight on his elbows.

“May I?” she asked aloud to no one in particular. She began chanting a prayer and the words grew louder as she went on. Orngoth’s body shone brightly under the light of this avatar of the sun god. For a moment, none could set their eyes upon the half-ogre and he could see nothing but white light. Once the light began to fade, his sight shifted focus and his peripherals caught a glow from beneath his chin.

“You see?” said the beautiful priestess gesturing to his neck. “The amulet he wears has aligned with the powers of the regenerative plane, granting him divine healing!” she added excitedly, moved closer to Orngoth, and leaned in.

“Someone has gifted you something very special here…treasure it. Though the magic is not strong, it is certainly present,” she explained to him. He nodded, not quite understanding what she meant, only that the chain his mother had given him was magical in nature.

“As long as you wear this, it will heal all wounds over time. That is why your leg has a slight bend to it. It began to heal under the magic within the amulet before it was set properly.”

Again, he nodded his understanding as the others began to disperse. Eventually he and the priestess were alone and she bowed to him kindly before taking her leave. Once he was alone, he touched the tight chain and inexplicably felt the affection of his mother through its warm surface.

Amtusk finally saw Oakhaven’s gates. He knew that this was where he would find the one named Rose. She reminded him so much of his mother. He considered the undeniable infatuation with the woman and tried to rationalize his own feelings, but found no sound logic for his compulsion to follow her.

Oakhaven was also where he’d been born decades prior and he wondered if his mother was even alive still. He intended to find out.

As he galloped nearer, the buildings in the distance seemed to climb higher into the sky and became clearer. He thanked the gods that his steed was powerful and required little in the way of rest as its legs thundered beneath him.

It was midday for sure, but he had no idea for how long he’d been riding. He was sore, but wanted to make it to Oakhaven as soon as he could. It seemed like it had been days in-between meals, but he knew that was not true. He’d all but gone through his rations, though, chewing the very last of the hard tack he’d brought along as he continued toward his destination.

But neither hunger nor weariness was his focus. Only finding the one named Rose.

Rose arrived home undetected and glanced about to make sure she was not followed. She had ducked back and forth along many of the streets on the way back, zigzagging and pausing as needed to watch for pursuers, even jumping in and out of the shadows on occasion.

She smiled sincerely as she recalled briefly the surprise in Melin’s face when he recognized her for who she was. He was quite startled to find her in the garb of a serving wench at the service entrance of The Tall Tale Tavern. She thought he might just drop the keg he held. But after a speedy and discreet transaction, she was on her way back home with another flagon of wine—and an expensive one at that.

She made her way to the rear entrance in the alley, steeped into the shadows and entered the house once more, as she had done so hundreds of times. The sun was waning, settling into the horizon in the west and Rose was both famished and tired. It would do her some good to relax in her own home, alone with a bottle of fine wine and a leg of mutton she’d bought from the dwarven tavern owner. She smiled thinking how good a friend Melin and his family had been to her over the years and took a swig of wine.

She abruptly had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched…or that someone had been in her room. It was impossible, though. Everything was exactly where she’d left it. Even the piece of thin wire she’d placed across the door opening at the top of the back entrance was still set in place. And anyone that would come through the front door would be lying in a pool of blood from the two crossbows, one on either side of the door, attached to thin line on the handle. And the windows were still nailed shut.

She placed the bag down on the counter, disrobed and scanned her bare flesh in a mirror. She was happy to be somewhat clean and if she remained in town long enough, would make it a priority to bathe properly. She gave careful consideration as to how relaxing the warm water of a bath would feel on her abused and aching flesh, but first, she wanted to taste the wine on her lips.

Melin had offered her a rather fine bottle. She had been going to save it for last, but decided to drink it first. She could always drink the cheaper stuff later, after the good wine was a lasting memory on her tongue.

Rose awoke some time later to the sound of a bell tolling in the distance and to find that the light of day had been replaced by darkness.

She lay on her sofa, her robe disheveled and barely covering her body at all. She fought through her grogginess, grabbed the bottle on her end table and took a swig.

Empty.

She stumbled into the pantry and retrieved the second bottle of wine, removing the cork and taking a swig.

She gagged as she made her way back to the sofa, plopping herself down as the room spun around her. She was drunk, she knew. She tried to lie down, but the room would not remain still, even when she closed her eyes and clutched at the sofa.

She sat up quickly and immediately felt the bile in her throat as she raced for the sink. She heaved for a few moments into the basin and when it was over, wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her robe. Eventually, she staggered over to the sofa once more and passed out.