The Slayarians - Book One by JM Barnes (pdf to ebook reader .txt) 📖

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Darkon climbed the tunnel on hands and knees. He could not yet see any end to it but the sound of sword ringing upon armor echoed down to him quite clearly. The tunnel was solid darkness its entire length and he idly wondered how Ralac had discovered it. The stench of death wafted from the dungeon below but he did not slow. Even when he gagged, eyes watering and arms trembling, he would not stop. He knew that to stop would be dangerous. If he were to pass out here, no one would find him for some time. By the time they reached him he might be dead from lack of air or he might fall back down the steeply sloping tunnel to crash onto the dungeon floor.
He pushed onward finding it more and more difficult as the tunnel seemed to level out. Insects got crushed beneath his weight and he never noticed them while he carefully hugged the smooth surface. Darkon only knew that his friends might need his help. So focused was he that when the highly poisonous spider bit him, he did not notice. Only as the darkness became a myriad of colors did he realize something was wrong. Perhaps the fumes were getting to him, he thought. Eventually, as he neared the tunnel’s end he found he could not go on. His limbs trembled as chills swept through his body and sweat poured from his brow like rainfall.
Knowing the danger of falling, he took a leather strap from his sword sheath and wrapped one half of it around his wrist. The other half he wrapped about a long dagger’s pommel and he then jammed the blade with all his remaining might into a crevice in the rock wall. Nausea swept over him as he exerted himself and consciousness began to leave. Irony, he thought to himself in that final moment of awakeness. He had slain a mighty demon no normal man could have, yet this simple tunnel had apparently defeated him. The gods must be chuckling at him. More than human he may be but he was just as vulnerable as any man there…alone in the dark.

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Kleana felt a sudden tugging she could not ignore. It pulled at her very being as had occurred countless times before. It was a sign that somewhere a Demonslayer was dying. Upon acknowledging that fact she followed the course suggested to her by the All Mother and alerted her brethren. So few Demonslayers lived and she knew instantaneously who was in peril, Anghar’s favorite. The war god would not be pleased to learn of this and She suspected he might interfere with the natural course of things. Normally she would be forced to quicken the slayer’s death so as to disallow interference from her sibling gods, but things had changed. All of their hopes and plans centered on bringing the Demonslayer’s back from near extinction. If Darkon was lost now, the goddess of death knew their hopes would be dashed.
With a gesture she commanded a faithful servant to hasten to the ice monolith and inform Anghar what was her non-objection to what she knew would be his eventual interference on the matter. When the messenger arrived, it was tackled at the throne room door by loyal spirit servants of Anghar, they had been ordered to stall Kleana’s messenger long enough for him to work the godly will that was his to manipulate and weave. Long enough for him to save Darkon.

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Darkon awoke to find himself on a cliff, nearly frozen and covered in snow. He remembered being there before as a youth, living with the Dunnaburough clan. He had disobeyed his father and followed the sounds of festivity up the steep side of Isleer’s hill. The clan’s folk tales told of Stone Elves dwelling at its top and it was said no human had ever returned from a journey there. His father claimed that was because most men froze to death on the cliff face before they ever reached the top. Others claimed the way was secret and the elves would not allow one who had discovered those secrets to return home.
Darkon, only thirteen at the time, grew more curious with each tale and more resigned to make the journey with every warning he was given. He had climbed beside both his foster parents many times so he felt his skills were enough to allow his success. The cold though, would be an obstacle.
Shaking his head, Darkon recognized where he was and realized this was either a dream or a hallucination. He looked at his hands and saw his own fully grown ones rather than those of the youth he had been at the time.
“What is this?” He wondered aloud.
Looking around then he realized he was not alone. Buried under the snow nearby was a smaller form and it did not stir. Panic overcame his senses then and without fully understanding why, he began to frantically dig the small person out. Tears were streaking down his face and sobs soon wracked his body. He pulled the small figure onto his lap and he cleared the snow from the lad’s mouth and nose. The boy was blue and stiff and he cried even harder, trying to rock the boy back to life. Pleading with Anghar he begged for the boy’s life in return for his own. He did not know why he felt such an intense empathy for the boy’s plight but he knew somehow that it was important for the boy to live. Then, suddenly, the boys’ eyes opened wide. Darkon started for a moment but recovered quickly and began to rub warmth into his young face.
Darkon’s prayers were answered but he felt no better and he continued his pleading, “Please don’t let me die, gods hear me please! I don’t want to die!”
The boy was Darkon. He had never recalled who or what saved him that day. He only knew he awoke in his warm bed with his beloved foster parents fussing over him. They would not answer any of his questions about that day when he was brought home.
A heavy crunch of snow alerted him to a new presence on the cliff then. Looking about he saw a large man in battered armor and seemingly endless animal pelt’s. The man’s eyes were the same color as the snow that froze him that day.
“Here now, give me the lad.” Without a word Darkon stood and handed him the heavy youth.
The mysterious man took the boy and stared Darkon directly in the eye and said, “If you don’t want to die, son, you must wake up! Wake up now, lad, for there is much you must accomplish.”
For a moment Darkon only stared dumbfoundedly back at him, but then the man’s name, no, the god’s name came to him suddenly. This awesome being had saved him that day, and perhaps at other times, and he was trying to save him now!
It was Anghar.

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Darkon awoke again, hanging by one dislocated shoulder in the tunnel. He felt weak, as if from fever but he knew he could linger here no longer and should leave the treacherous tunnel at once. Loosening the leather strap on his wrist he rolled over and slammed his shoulder into the wall. With a loud popping sound it returned to its socket and he screamed in agony. Through the haze of pain and confusion he recalled only a name, the name of his savior and guide, and found that name both great and true. He knew then that he had never truly been alone in that tunnel or on that cliff years ago. Anghar had always been with him.


CHAPTER 25
FAMILY REUNION


Galen fell to his knees as Satar hammered the blade he held before him with his heavier two handed weapon. The prince no longer attempted an offense of his own for he was nearly exhausted. Now, as he struggled to regain his footing under the relentless assault, he only hoped he might survive. Several of the glowing enchantments Satar had adorning his armor had been destroyed by his skilled attacks but the madman’s person had yet to be touched. Sweat and blood burned Galen’s eyes and his vision blurred. He had fought well but skill was no match for the spells Satarnafoon had wound like envenomed vines around his evil son.
Nearby, Graton waited, torn between assisting Galen and holding to his word he would not interfere.
Galen regained his feet and mentally prepared himself for what he knew would be his last offensive. Satar leered at him and circled as if sensing his victory was at hand. Galen raised his sword up and took a deep, steadying breath. He knew he might die but he was resolved to take a piece of Satar with him. As he lunged forward he felt the smallest tap as something brushed across his right forearm. He almost glanced down to decipher the source but he was taken by a sudden surge of power that seemed to start at his arm and continued throughout his body. Knowing this could be his only chance the prince put all thoughts aside. As he landed on his right foot he simultaneously ducked and spun around. Satar took a mighty swing where his upper body should have been and found himself off balance as he cleft only air.
Galen completed the spin and used the leverage and forward motion to his advantage. Coming up and across with his sword he struck the surprised Satar cleanly across the ribcage. With the added strength of Graton’s magic he would have cut through any normal adversary with ease, but Satar was still partially protected. The sword rang out as it struck Satar’s armored side and all at once the gems and enchantments upon them winked out. Satar stumbled backward a few steps from the force of the prince’s strike. Wide eyed, he looked at Galen’s face and found it leering mockingly back at him.
Thinking his father’s magic had failed him Satar did not accept the look of confidence the cursed prince proudly wore. He had seen the prince panting for breath and leaking his lifeblood from several wounds. Surely he could not stand against him now, even without his enchantments. Screaming his denial, Satar charged madly toward the unmoving prince. Closing upon Galen who was standing with legs apart and sword tip touching the ground like a child unable to gather the