The Slayarians - Book One by JM Barnes (pdf to ebook reader .txt) đź“–
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did not even scream as Gemini pulled it out. The second was not deeply planted in his side and only still remained there because of his armor wrapping around it. Again Graton did naught but grunt as it was tugged away. The third was life threatening. It was well aimed and maybe even spell guided and nearly struck a lung. It was deep and Gemini had to ask Darkon to hold Graton down as the arrow was pulled. Graton insisted he would not need the precaution but he was silenced by an elven admonishment from Gemini. Needless to say, Graton did benefit from having the Demonslayer hold his arms down for if he had not Gemini would never have gotten the arrow loose, and Graton this time did scream. He barely clung to awareness as Darkon hurried to apply the salve of healing and found that it took two doses to heal his friend, three doses remained. Perhaps the one thing cursed Merleptus had been worth meeting for was the Salve of Noor. It had surely saved Graton’s life and thus Galen’s quest to free his family.
Galen joined Ralac upon the balcony and looked down at the quivering form of Par-Than. He carefully pulled the wizard’s arms out to either side of his body thus disallowing any complicated spell casting.
Galen then stepped lightly on the fingers of the wretched mage’s right hand and said, “Par-Than, your treason is known to me and your fate is already decided but to lighten your inevitable punishment, I ask you to aid me now.”
Ralac crouched before the mage’s face and grinned as he wiped his dagger across the mage’s robe.
Par-Than knew he would be executed but thought if he could buy himself some time he may be able to escape the Mastalon family’s wrath. “Yes, yes my prince, of course! I will do anything!”
Galen and Ralac both smiled. “Tell me first where my parents are being held and then where Satar is hiding.” Galen demanded.
“Your parents and sister are safe and well taken care of in the royal dungeon where your father kept the lightest of offenders. Guarding them are two vile demons Satar somehow summoned.”
Galen felt some relief but wouldn’t show it to the evil mage. He kicked Par-Than hard in the ribcage and tread harder on his delicate fingers as he demanded, “Satar, where is he?”
Par-Than took a moment to recover his breath and vision before he said, “The insane fool sleeps in your very own bedchamber my prince! He does not sleep often but when he does even a great battle cannot awaken him. I attempted to do so when word of your attack reached me but he did not reply.”
The mage grunted and spat blood as he was kicked again. Darkon had just arrived from the main floor below and had joyfully joined in the wizard’s abuse.
“Well, a reply I did get, but not from Satar.” Across from the prince, Darkon nodded his assent that the mage did not lie. The flow once again proved its usefulness, as Par-Than's undefended, desperate mind was open even to an untrained thought reader.
Par-Than wheezed hard and continued, “A being I've never seen before demanded I handle any disturbances. I know not if it was a demon or a living shadow for it could have been either but then a feeling of dread I could not control washed over me and I had to break contact with it.”
Darkon’s voice rose above the din of wounded men and said, “I knew it, there are demons to be dealt with.”
Galen and Ralac exchanged amused glances as the prince began to tie Par-Than to a railing and disallowed his digits any room to wriggle. The torn up tapestry he used artfully displayed a man's bare posterior just under the mages nose. No one saw fit to comment on so simple a jest but it was not missed. Par-Than tried again to plead for mercy but Galen spat into one of his eyes and sent him to unconsciousness with a solid elbow to the skull.
Gathered again upon the ballroom floor Galen and his friends decided upon their next moves.
“My family should be my main concern but I fear Satar might escape or bring more trouble than we are prepared for.” Galen said.
“Fear not, friend Galen,” said Gemini, “Darkon and I agreed that we two would be best chosen to free your family because of the demons that stand watch over them.”
“What about the demon that is by Satar’s side?” Graton asked with the tragedy in the Abyss still clear in his mind. Gemini nodded and reached inside a pouch that was sewn into the folds of his robe. From it he produced a charm, dangling from a silver chain. It was the necklace Ralac had shown him when he and Gemini had appeared out of the darkness one night. It came from a mage under Satar’s employ.
“With this around any one of your necks the fear instilled by unearthly creatures will be lessened greatly. This item is not long lasting though. Once it actively absorbs the negative emotions it will begin to deteriorate so you must deal with the creature hastily.”
Tam then handed the item over to Graton who placed the charm around his own neck. Ralac had another for himself and each of his companions. His time among the royal guard had been quite useful.
Galen pondered again the strange circumstance that brought him together with these four brave and talented men and thought that fate had much to do with it. He pondered for a moment what else might be in store for the fated companionship.
“Very good, Darkon, Tam Geminilanthis, may fate smile upon you both.” Galen spoke as he grasped the men’s arms in a warrior’s clasp. “Please, my friends, take great care of my family.”
There was a long moment of handshaking and shoulder clapping before the two groups split up and took two different routes from the ballroom. One group consisted of a proud and angry prince, a noble and deadly elf, and a silently creeping, shadow enthralled killer. The other, a grim and vengeful Demonslayer and an elven sorcerer who’s desire to learn was only equaled by his need to right unjustness. Purposefully they moved and with every step each of them took, one step closer to their unknown destinies, their confidence grew. How could it not when each had so much confidence and trust in the rest?
^ ^ ^
Havocville was no place for young women and neither was it a place for young men whose hearts were pure. Cann-Dar knew that well enough but Krosten demanded the young Demonslayers join them in the noisy, smelly town. Slaytor kept close watch over the beautiful young ladies of Slayaria never taking his hand from the haft of his treasured axe. Already, after barely an hour’s time, a drunken pair of men asked the dwarf how much one of the girls would cost them for the night. Their answer, surprisingly, did not come from Slaytor’s axe but instead came from the Demonslayer men whom at once pummeled the drunks into unconsciousness. Slaytor seemed at first remiss at their actions but truly he was only disappointed in how long it took them to finish the two oafs. Krosten all the while paid no heed to their actions. He was otherwise distracted following the urgings of a spell of finding he had been given from the blessed All Mother.
It wasn’t long before the group had walked around and through the bustling place and away from it to the east. Twilight came and the group of Demonslayers and their guardian mentors stopped at what looked like the sight of where a house had burned to the ground. It was here that Krosten’s enspelled trance ended and he finally spoke.
“He was here.” He said to no one in particular.
Cann-Dar looked around and wondered if the son of the black tiger clan still lived.
As if sensing those thoughts Krosten said, “He yet lives but he is far from here now. I believe to the south.”
As they stood over the charred earth and watched the sun fall below the horizon, Kirstana, one of the more talented of the remaining Slayarian priestesses, kneeled and prayed for guidance. Kirstana was a self taught priestess of Aeleostrimine, the goddess of nature and change. One who had lived out her youth alongside a foster family in a steppe region that lay far to the east of Greece near Kazakhstan. Though she had no formal training as a priestess her bond with Aeleostrimine was strong and her talents with herbs, animals and people were exceptional. Having grown among the hardy folk of the steppes and having lived within those rugged wild lands her skills were no surprise to Krosten who looked on with pride at her casting. It was a minor spell for the old priest but a dangerous one for an inexperienced priestess. She named her goddess granted spells as she prayed for the power and guidance to cast them for she did not know what her people had dubbed the spell. This one she named, “Song to the Living Ghosts.” The spell would grant her visions of a particular object or location’s past.
Quietly chanting, Kirstana had no idea all eyes were upon her. For several minutes they silently waited for the young priestess to move or speak. Soon the chanting stopped as the full effects of the spell took over and she began to witness, within her mind, the last two days of the house’s existence. She watched as Rena hid from her brothers and fell asleep. She watched as the innocent girl was horribly violated while paralyzed with fear. She saw the face of the man who committed the evil act and she was then suddenly stricken with an unexplainable terror. Kirstana screamed aloud then and attempted to fight off the cruel man who groped her. Lashing out in defense the spell was broken and she realized to her remorse that it was Treacor the brooding ranger who she had struck as he tried to calm her. He took that blow and another without changing his expression or the soothing tones with which he whispered to the strong priestess. Her years in the steppes and forests had made her as agile and tough as she was captivatingly beautiful so it took some effort to hold her still.
As the servant of the goddess of nature and change finally regained composure enough to speak, tears still streaming from her big brown eyes, she looked to Treacor and apologized. The young ranger said nothing but gave her a reassuring hug before he stood and allowed Krosten to kneel by her side.
Looking directly into her clear, chestnut eyes, Krosten said, “You are well ahead in your learning but you must still obtain
Galen joined Ralac upon the balcony and looked down at the quivering form of Par-Than. He carefully pulled the wizard’s arms out to either side of his body thus disallowing any complicated spell casting.
Galen then stepped lightly on the fingers of the wretched mage’s right hand and said, “Par-Than, your treason is known to me and your fate is already decided but to lighten your inevitable punishment, I ask you to aid me now.”
Ralac crouched before the mage’s face and grinned as he wiped his dagger across the mage’s robe.
Par-Than knew he would be executed but thought if he could buy himself some time he may be able to escape the Mastalon family’s wrath. “Yes, yes my prince, of course! I will do anything!”
Galen and Ralac both smiled. “Tell me first where my parents are being held and then where Satar is hiding.” Galen demanded.
“Your parents and sister are safe and well taken care of in the royal dungeon where your father kept the lightest of offenders. Guarding them are two vile demons Satar somehow summoned.”
Galen felt some relief but wouldn’t show it to the evil mage. He kicked Par-Than hard in the ribcage and tread harder on his delicate fingers as he demanded, “Satar, where is he?”
Par-Than took a moment to recover his breath and vision before he said, “The insane fool sleeps in your very own bedchamber my prince! He does not sleep often but when he does even a great battle cannot awaken him. I attempted to do so when word of your attack reached me but he did not reply.”
The mage grunted and spat blood as he was kicked again. Darkon had just arrived from the main floor below and had joyfully joined in the wizard’s abuse.
“Well, a reply I did get, but not from Satar.” Across from the prince, Darkon nodded his assent that the mage did not lie. The flow once again proved its usefulness, as Par-Than's undefended, desperate mind was open even to an untrained thought reader.
Par-Than wheezed hard and continued, “A being I've never seen before demanded I handle any disturbances. I know not if it was a demon or a living shadow for it could have been either but then a feeling of dread I could not control washed over me and I had to break contact with it.”
Darkon’s voice rose above the din of wounded men and said, “I knew it, there are demons to be dealt with.”
Galen and Ralac exchanged amused glances as the prince began to tie Par-Than to a railing and disallowed his digits any room to wriggle. The torn up tapestry he used artfully displayed a man's bare posterior just under the mages nose. No one saw fit to comment on so simple a jest but it was not missed. Par-Than tried again to plead for mercy but Galen spat into one of his eyes and sent him to unconsciousness with a solid elbow to the skull.
Gathered again upon the ballroom floor Galen and his friends decided upon their next moves.
“My family should be my main concern but I fear Satar might escape or bring more trouble than we are prepared for.” Galen said.
“Fear not, friend Galen,” said Gemini, “Darkon and I agreed that we two would be best chosen to free your family because of the demons that stand watch over them.”
“What about the demon that is by Satar’s side?” Graton asked with the tragedy in the Abyss still clear in his mind. Gemini nodded and reached inside a pouch that was sewn into the folds of his robe. From it he produced a charm, dangling from a silver chain. It was the necklace Ralac had shown him when he and Gemini had appeared out of the darkness one night. It came from a mage under Satar’s employ.
“With this around any one of your necks the fear instilled by unearthly creatures will be lessened greatly. This item is not long lasting though. Once it actively absorbs the negative emotions it will begin to deteriorate so you must deal with the creature hastily.”
Tam then handed the item over to Graton who placed the charm around his own neck. Ralac had another for himself and each of his companions. His time among the royal guard had been quite useful.
Galen pondered again the strange circumstance that brought him together with these four brave and talented men and thought that fate had much to do with it. He pondered for a moment what else might be in store for the fated companionship.
“Very good, Darkon, Tam Geminilanthis, may fate smile upon you both.” Galen spoke as he grasped the men’s arms in a warrior’s clasp. “Please, my friends, take great care of my family.”
There was a long moment of handshaking and shoulder clapping before the two groups split up and took two different routes from the ballroom. One group consisted of a proud and angry prince, a noble and deadly elf, and a silently creeping, shadow enthralled killer. The other, a grim and vengeful Demonslayer and an elven sorcerer who’s desire to learn was only equaled by his need to right unjustness. Purposefully they moved and with every step each of them took, one step closer to their unknown destinies, their confidence grew. How could it not when each had so much confidence and trust in the rest?
^ ^ ^
Havocville was no place for young women and neither was it a place for young men whose hearts were pure. Cann-Dar knew that well enough but Krosten demanded the young Demonslayers join them in the noisy, smelly town. Slaytor kept close watch over the beautiful young ladies of Slayaria never taking his hand from the haft of his treasured axe. Already, after barely an hour’s time, a drunken pair of men asked the dwarf how much one of the girls would cost them for the night. Their answer, surprisingly, did not come from Slaytor’s axe but instead came from the Demonslayer men whom at once pummeled the drunks into unconsciousness. Slaytor seemed at first remiss at their actions but truly he was only disappointed in how long it took them to finish the two oafs. Krosten all the while paid no heed to their actions. He was otherwise distracted following the urgings of a spell of finding he had been given from the blessed All Mother.
It wasn’t long before the group had walked around and through the bustling place and away from it to the east. Twilight came and the group of Demonslayers and their guardian mentors stopped at what looked like the sight of where a house had burned to the ground. It was here that Krosten’s enspelled trance ended and he finally spoke.
“He was here.” He said to no one in particular.
Cann-Dar looked around and wondered if the son of the black tiger clan still lived.
As if sensing those thoughts Krosten said, “He yet lives but he is far from here now. I believe to the south.”
As they stood over the charred earth and watched the sun fall below the horizon, Kirstana, one of the more talented of the remaining Slayarian priestesses, kneeled and prayed for guidance. Kirstana was a self taught priestess of Aeleostrimine, the goddess of nature and change. One who had lived out her youth alongside a foster family in a steppe region that lay far to the east of Greece near Kazakhstan. Though she had no formal training as a priestess her bond with Aeleostrimine was strong and her talents with herbs, animals and people were exceptional. Having grown among the hardy folk of the steppes and having lived within those rugged wild lands her skills were no surprise to Krosten who looked on with pride at her casting. It was a minor spell for the old priest but a dangerous one for an inexperienced priestess. She named her goddess granted spells as she prayed for the power and guidance to cast them for she did not know what her people had dubbed the spell. This one she named, “Song to the Living Ghosts.” The spell would grant her visions of a particular object or location’s past.
Quietly chanting, Kirstana had no idea all eyes were upon her. For several minutes they silently waited for the young priestess to move or speak. Soon the chanting stopped as the full effects of the spell took over and she began to witness, within her mind, the last two days of the house’s existence. She watched as Rena hid from her brothers and fell asleep. She watched as the innocent girl was horribly violated while paralyzed with fear. She saw the face of the man who committed the evil act and she was then suddenly stricken with an unexplainable terror. Kirstana screamed aloud then and attempted to fight off the cruel man who groped her. Lashing out in defense the spell was broken and she realized to her remorse that it was Treacor the brooding ranger who she had struck as he tried to calm her. He took that blow and another without changing his expression or the soothing tones with which he whispered to the strong priestess. Her years in the steppes and forests had made her as agile and tough as she was captivatingly beautiful so it took some effort to hold her still.
As the servant of the goddess of nature and change finally regained composure enough to speak, tears still streaming from her big brown eyes, she looked to Treacor and apologized. The young ranger said nothing but gave her a reassuring hug before he stood and allowed Krosten to kneel by her side.
Looking directly into her clear, chestnut eyes, Krosten said, “You are well ahead in your learning but you must still obtain
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