The Slayarians - Book One - JM Barnes (different e readers txt) 📗

mage masters. The only downfall was that keywords were only functional when a mage was scrying. Of course scrying was one of this mage’s favorite things to do.
The imp confirmed the received information with an annoying, nose wiping whine. A whine that reminded Merleptus why he had sent the creature abroad rather than keeping it within arms reach. Still the thing was proving useful enough for now. Feeling quite satisfied with his machinations, the mage then turned his thoughts away from the earthly plane altogether. Now he looked to the Abyss and searched for what remained of Dardiax the Darkbringer. He knew that the demon could not have been slain so easily and had probably by now recovered from Darkon's attack. Though he was not sure how the demon lord would have regenerated such a large part of itself he was aware that it could live just as well without it. Demons were only part substance and essentially could never truly bleed to death as a mortal could but if it could not recover its bottom half its power was cut in half as well. He only hoped the creature was too occupied recovering and hopefully defending its temporarily lowered status. For, like sharks, once other demon lords learned of Dardiax’s weakened state they would turn on him hoping to climb higher in rank among their kind.
When Merleptus’ seeking magic finally found the demon lord he found it in a black stone constructed, rune covered pit. It was franticly begging for mercy from an unseen aggressor and clearly had only barely recovered from its wounds. Dardiax the Darkbringer was reduced to walking with his arms while his dripping torso thumped along beneath him. This was what Merleptus had hoped for and he relaxed greatly at the sight of a once powerful being reduced to a whimpering wretch.
The mage then decided to find out who or what was toying with Dardiax. It might prove wise to know who would take the Darkbringer's rank, as tenuous as a demon’s rank was. As he concentrated upon seeing what Dardiax was seeing, the mage was gripped by a grim foreboding. He almost stopped his scrying but couldn’t avoid it now that he was caught in the fascination of the dread. Carried onward like a stick in the swift flow of a raging river he used all of his considerable will to focus on the dark image hovering over Dardiax.
It was tall, like a giant, and built like a mighty warrior, muscles bulging beneath a velvety black fur. Smooth human like features were framed by curling yellow horns and his pupiless eyes shone with a silvery radiance. The great demon ran its clawed fingers over a wide bladed sword, creating sparks along its length.
He made no sound other than that with his claws and his piercing gaze made Merleptus feel as if the demon were looking directly at him. Then the demon winked and he knew the truth. The mage had never seen the beast before now and never heard tales of him either. Still he could voice its name, sensing it in the subconscious of his mind. This horror was named, Calic-Matar.


CHAPTER 13
A QUEST FOR REVENGE


It was some time before Darkon settled for a suitable place for Sevele’s burial. They all agreed to bid her farewell in full elven custom. The elves believed that since they were brought forth from the earth in the beginning they must return to the earth in the end. Stripped to bare skin one would decompose very quickly.
After the last bit of dirt covered her Graton sang the elven song of mourning. Galen and Darkon did not understand the words but the beauty of the song was still piercing to their hearts. The entire forest seemed to hush in order to hear his voice.
So absorbed were all three that none noticed the crowd that gathered at the edge of the small clearing they were in. The fearie were good friends of Sevele and all were greatly saddened when she left Ara’moor. Now they mourned her death, all quietly listening to the Griffon lord’s song. Except of course the now invisible imp, Sniffaro. The imp was in fear for its life and well it should be. Fearie would kill any of his kind on sight and then display his remains for their fellows to further abuse.
As Graton’s song ended the numerous fey creatures dispersed, allowing Sniffaro to relax. Soon he knew his time for appearing would arrive. The three companions walked about a mile away to a meadow that surrounded a small pond. Spell book at his side Graton kneeled at the pond’s edge and prepared to begin the castings that would allow him to find Merleptus. The pond was perfect as a temporary scrying device but the elf's casting was interrupted by a most distracting sound.
“Gnneeeeagh!” Sniffaro hovered nearby, announced by his nose once again.
Before anyone could move or react it said, “My master has sent me ta ansa’ anyting youse got ta ask! He sees and hears us just fine.”
Only Darkon knew, through the intuitive nature of the mindflow, whom the pesky imp spoke of. “Why doesn’t Merleptus show himself? Is he so full of guilt he cannot face me?”
“My master says he feels remorse about da girl and wants ta apologize for her dyin’.” The Imp then seemed to hold back a belch.
Its eyes widened and it looked as if it could no longer breathe. With a solid thump that crunched some fallen branches the imp fell to the ground. It belched again and made a show of holding back some unbidden vomit. Then suddenly a gold coin shot from its mouth, and then another. On and on the coins fell and chinked into the growing haphazard pile until three hundred gold coins piled up around the creature. Darkon, Graton and even Galen, who was tempted to kill the creature while it was unable to fly, watched with amazement. They understood that it was being used as a receptacle for Merleptus’ spell but the sight was still unbelievable.
Nearly obscured from sight the men heard it breathe outward in relief and say, “Was dat really necessary?”
It then hovered out of the pile and settled down closer to Darkon. “Dese coins is ta help ya on your journey south. My master knows of Satar and would likes me ta warn youse that the man is completely insane and should be dealt with very carefully. He has taken Galen’s family prisoner and taken da throne! He wants ta execute all’o dem at once so he waits fer Galen ta show up.”
Galen was stricken with this news and said, “Which means I’ll be walking into a trap.”
Graton nodded and Darkon added, “We will be indeed, my friend.”
The imp interrupted then and said, “My master says ta remember da word he will now give ya through me so when youse are in trouble youse can call on him fer help. Da word is,” The illiterate creature pronounced the word slowly and carefully for any mispronunciation would not work as the key word should, “…scintillation.”
“Scintillation.” Graton repeated as the Imp zealously nodded. Only the elf had heard the word before and he found it strange coming from one who would employ such vile creatures as Imps.
Darkon seemed to be on the edge of exploding into a rage as he spoke up, “Tell Merleptus we appreciate his concerns and his help. Yet, he must know that I am aware that he sent us blindly into the Abyss. For that I cannot allow him to be pardoned without punishment.”
He was now sure of what he had said, for why else would the mage send this foul imp in his stead. Surely he must have realized Darkon was not a forgiving kind of person. His blood boiled as he realized the mage must have been watching them while they battled through the Abyss and he must have watched when Sevele had been slain. If the mage had been any kind of friend or ally he would have taken some kind of action.
Galen, who had remained quiet almost the entire time, spat in the leaving imp’s direction.
“Creatures like that are foul and any mage who controls one is foul as well.” He growled.
Darkon met his angry gaze then and considering his words wondered why Merleptus used the imp at all. He felt he would have sensed if the mage was evil and sensed no such thing when they met. Perhaps he simply toyed with the pesky creature. Or perhaps the mage was more skilled at masking himself from the mindflow than he’d realized. Regardless he wanted no more of the mage’s quests or assistance, though he did welcome the gold. He then stepped to the glistening pile and scooped it all into a sack he still had with him from the failed quest in the Abyss. Galen’s supply of gold had run out and if the Imp spoke truly he would not be garnering new funds any time in the near future.
As Darkon stood and tied the sack to his backpack Galen cleared his throat and said, “My friends, we must now plan for our journey. Now that Merleptus has told us of my family’s situation, if indeed what he said is true, I realize I must now make an admission.”
Galen, Prince of Genossia, who gave his prayers and loyalty to the angry war god called Ares, prepared himself to face the most feared foe of men who held positions of power, the truth.
“I have told you of my origin but not of the real reasons I travel so far from my home. The fact is, I deserted my father and the kingdom, knowing all the time that my family’s downfall was inevitable.” The words seemed hard for Galen to say and they struck him like blows when he spoke them. “A prophecy from a priest of a different religion than my own told of the coming attack from the son of Satarnafoon. It said I would be a key to the success of the invasion because of my inexperience in battle. So, I left home at only sixteen winters old and I haven’t returned in nearly four. I should have gone home last winter but I thought I would have more time.” He hung his head low. “I thought I would have had much more time. I did not want to go home and possibly cause the downfall of my father’s kingdom.”
Galen's head lowered in shame, clearly the guilt was overburdening him. His friends were stunned not for the prince’s admittance of what he had done but instead that he admitted to them that he had lied. Neither of them ever pushed Galen in conversation about his princely status and responsibilities. They’d sensed he never wanted to talk about those things. They had sensed what he was so ashamed of for some time but left him to his own affairs.
Galen’s demeanor most of the time was carefree and even reckless. If there were no battles to be fought he would find the most activity nearby and involve himself until either a fight broke out or he made himself a new friend. His current friends numbered three right now and he had been in plenty of fights. Surely, they thought, if Galen needed their