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

the wisdom of years.”
Kirstana nodded in understanding and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Krosten then moved his ears closer to her as she whispered to him all she had seen and felt.
Soon after the old man stood and looked resignedly southward. “We must continue in the morning but for now we may resupply in town.”
Seven of eight Demonslayers and the unlikely pair of elf and dwarf all turned toward Havoctown as one, heeding Krosten’s command. Yet one Demonslayer had not moved, instead he was glaring intensely at the back of Krosten’s head. Treacor was a tall, lean young man. His brown hair hung carelessly about his head and his weather stained cloak and breeches gave one the impression that he cared nothing for superficial things. Treacor had been fostered in by northern Timber Elves east and north of the netherlands since the fall of Slayaria. The ways of a ranger were his true calling. Raised as an individualist he did not like being ordered around or dismissed as someone inconsequential. Having spent the last three years fighting beside the proud Timber Elves against goblins, giants and Norsemen, he was confident and sure of his own opinions. He would never allow anyone to dictate his life to him. Thus, when Krosten announced they would continue the journey south he decided it was his turn to make a decision
“Old man, I disagree!”
Stopping in his tracks Krosten turned about and sternly regarded the quiet ranger.
Undaunted, Treacor continued, “I don’t know why we’re wasting time tracking down one Demonslayer who may or may not be alive anyway. We should leave a message here in this town and head north and begin searching for the relics of our people.”
A few of Treacor's fellow young Demonslayers looked downward or simply avoided Krosten’s gaze as he looked toward them. Some of them agreed with Treacor but none would say so aloud.
“Treacor,” Began the old priest, “I hear your words and I understand your frustration but you all must realize that the one we seek is the only son of the ruling clan. His abilities and presence will be a great asset to our cause.”
Treacor obviously disbelieved or cared little for Krosten’s words for he simply snorted and derisively said, “All bow to the wisdom of our elders, they couldn’t save our people but…”
Before he could continue in that stinging line of thought though, Sirsi’ interrupted him.
Sirsi’ was a short, stocky yet comely priestess of Kleana. Her silky black hair was tied in a bun allowing the smooth lines of her face and her piercing, dark eyes to be seen. Though she wore chain mail armor much like a warrior her grace was not concealed in the least. She easily moved with fluidity many women would never achieve, thanks to her years growing up among the people of Greece.
Thus, all fell silent when she said, “Treacor, there is no need to insult our only guide left in this world.” The ranger angrily turned from his brethren but remained quiet. “Krosten, Treacor speaks in a harsh and accusing manner and in that he is wrong.”
“Yet what he says, by my own opinion as well, is quite understandable. Must we commit all of our combined efforts to find one person? Understand revered one, we may be young but we are not incapable. Would it be so inconceivable to send some of us south to continue the search while the rest head home?”
Krosten paused a moment before answering for his throat was full of pride for both young slayers who had decided to speak their minds.
Keeping his face expressionless he finally said, “Sirsi’, Treacor, your thoughts are not lost on me. I may indeed do as you say. The problem I face though is which of you would make the journey south.”
Shock was written on many a young face then for none had witnessed any evidence to date that suggested the old priest would ever consider another’s opinion. Especially those of the gathered young slayers. Cann-Dar and Slaytor smiled widely. The two had known Krosten for three decades and understood his ways better than any that lived. They knew Krosten would never coax someone into action when he could frustrate them until they felt they had no recourse. It was his belief that the truly intelligent and able would always rise to the occasion and this moment showed he was correct.
Krosten smiled and walked over to the confused Treacor and embraced him. The ranger was too stunned to return the embrace before Krosten let go and faced the others.
“Treacor has shown wisdom and courage by speaking out today, as has Sirsi’ by taking his side and standing beside him. Thus, it is with great pride that I ask that they be two of the four I will send south.” Treacor began to stammer protest but Krosten would hear none of it. “With Slaytor as their guide, Kirstana will also make the journey and I am sure complete this important task.”
Kirstana stepped forward next to the beaming dwarf, Sirsi’ and Treacor while Krosten had the others empty their packs and hand over their provisions to them.
“After our dear friend Slaytor I name Sirsi’ as leader. She has shown the calm understanding necessary to bring you all home in one piece.” He said.
Treacor seemed about to protest the appointing of leadership but was halted by a dwarven punch to the ribcage. Slaytor chuckled as the cocky ranger doubled over and tried to find his breath.
“There are times when you need to speak up boy, but now is not one of them!” Slaytor explained through his beard.
Treacor heard the dwarf’s words and understood that he spoke the truth. He regretted his harsh words earlier and his thoughts these past several weeks. If he had known Krosten was testing them he would have tried harder to disappoint the high priest. Now it was too late for that and he had unwittingly impressed Krosten and now his peers looked at him in a new light. Then again, the way Kirstana’s eyes lit up when she looked at him did not have to be a bad thing.
Soon after, the two groups separated and were moving briskly on their way. Slaytor’s charges were newly invigorated by the confidence Krosten had shown in them as the high priest’s party sought to resupply and get away from Havoctown as soon as possible before any wary servants of demon kind noticed them. Slaytor said little on the four hour hike south except that they should stop before midnight. Treacor and Sirsi’ chatted whenever possible while Kirstana had said barely a thing at all. Kirstana was confused by the quick change of methods by Krosten and she did not know what she had done to deserve going along on the journey.
It was near midnight when they finally did stop, made camp and a small fire to sleep by. Treacor took first watch. He sat at the edge of the small camp and looked out over the flat horizons on all sides of him. The plains of Gaul were nothing like the timber country he knew so well and he felt exposed for any creature to notice and attack. So concentrated was his elven trained attention he did not notice when Kirstana stood and approached him. She tapped his shoulder so lightly shivers ran up his spine and as he turned he almost opened his arms to embrace her for some strange impulse told him she had come to him to be near his side. Inside he knew he had merely wanted that to be true but her next words changed that line of thought.
“Treacor, I’m sorry if I startled you.”
The ranger nodded off her concern and gestured for her to sit down.
Kirstana thought for a moment the rough looking ranger was about to embrace her, but she quietly let the moment pass and said, “I’ve realized we made a mistake and we must go back and find Krosten.”
Treacor, not knowing her reasons, tried to calm her fears. “Surely we’ll be fine, you’re just nervous.”
She would have none of it though and she continued in a louder voice, “No, don’t you see? The only way we could ever find the lost one is with Krosten. It was by his power alone that we’ve followed Darkon’s trail this far. We’re heading blindly south while he may be somewhere else by now!”
Now Treacor understood, and he cursed aloud. Kirstana was right. They were following an imagined trail, one that could lead them to the edge of the world when their purpose for heading southward was long gone.
“We’ll pray.” Treacor finally said. “We’ll pray.”


CHAPTER 23
DEMON DUEL


Darkon ducked behind a stack of empty barrels as the winged demon walked by the dungeon entrance. He could feel the invigorating hum of his body as it yearned to put an end to the thing’s existence. He resisted though, for the family of his good friend was under the care of the creature and its partner. It would not do to attack one and have the other take the lives of the royal family. So, he bided his time until Gemini sent along the awaited signal. The mage was moving invisibly about the dungeons, discovering the whereabouts of the Mastalon’s. He had been gone for a half an hour, too long for Darkon's liking.
The demons were powerful members of their kind and were most likely immune to mundane weapons, and as Tam noted, some magical attacks were also useless against them. Using the mindflow to reach his own lost memories from his youth and Tam’s learning’s on demon lore they recalled that particular information as soon as they sighted the first beast. Luckily for them the rumors of demons having acute senses were exaggerated. In their realm it was no mere rumor but upon the mortal realm there were too many different things that were not present at all in the Abyss. Their senses were often overloaded by the constant assault of alien smells and sounds. The two skulking rescuers were sure they could defeat the seven foot tall, jackal headed, chameleon scaled monsters but the safety of those they were here to save were their first concern. As soon as Darkon heard the happy sound of a dinner bell he knew the time for skulking had passed. He would now steal closer for the count of ten and then attack the closest beast.
As he rounded the doorframe the back of the first demon came into view. The vile thing was facing a happily talking man wearing the garb of a baker or cook. A fat man he was, all smiles and dimples. He chattered exuberantly about his home recipe of stuffed gnome. A small table sat in front of him and upon its surface was a gnome, well done and dressed in a savory butter sauce.
Darkon almost chuckled aloud as the illusionary cook sliced off a hunk of meat and waved it enticingly before the demon’s noses. He stayed silent though as he counted down, five, four, three, and then the second demon finally came out of its hiding spot somewhere above its fellow. It had been hiding among the dark enveloped rafters of this, the topmost level of the dungeons of Mastalon. Ralac had told of a hidden tunnel that