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

is no dragon!” Shadow stepped from the shifting darkness and kicked the thing’s tail in disgust. The tail promptly separated from the body and Squirrel shouted in glee.
“It’s a wooden construct!” He said as he hurriedly joined his dark friend’s side in dismantling the now fully burning farcical creature.
Darkon’s face flushed red from relief and a bit of embarrassment. He’d been truly frightened when he saw the construct falling upon him and his companions. Still, he felt confident his earlier feeling of dread had not been born by the facsimile. As he stooped to pick up his discarded torch, which barely yet burned, he noticed a figure standing at the sloping tunnel mouth. Hastily he whispered toward Galen and nodded toward the figure as he held his torch out to further illuminate the area.
An old man with patches of white hair and pale, wrinkled skin stood staring in horror as Shadow and Squirrel joyfully dismantled the smoldering false dragon.
“You!” He suddenly screeched. “You killed my dragon!”
Confusion was obvious on both of the young men’s faces but the old man persisted.
“That’s my dragon! Now you’re going to have to pay for that!” The old fellow threatened.
Finally Squirrel and Shadow heard the man and promptly stood beside, or in Shadow’s case behind, Darkon and Galen.
“All of you must pay, now!” He then held forth his right hand and held it toward the young men, as if truly expecting them to hand over some sort of payment.
They were all dumbstruck. Obviously this mad old man had built the dragon facsimile but how he’d made it steal oxen was beyond even Squirrel’s ken.
“Good man,” Squirrel stepped forward and began, “We made an error in judgment and must apologize. My friends and I mistakenly assumed your dragon was real. Whatever the cost for you to build it we will gladly repay but we hope you might tell us where the true dragon lairs if you could.”
Squirrel’s respectful manner clearly pleased the old timer for his face put on a gap-toothed smile.
“Dragon?! There’s no such thing as dragons!” The old man cackled heartily with delight, truly amused that these young men actually expected to find a real dragon.
Squirrel’s nerves got the better of him then. Before him he had an old man mocking him and behind him were two dangerous warriors he’d assured there would be a monster to fight. This was not turning out the way he’d expected. Thankfully, Shadow recognized his friend’s discomfort and again interjected for him.
“Listen, you old fool! If there’s no dragon then what’s been carrying off the oxen of Thelebes?”
The old man’s eyes went wide and his laughter halted. “The grounders.” He whispered harshly.
“The grounders?” Darkon echoed questioningly.
Another voice, this one deep and dry like rocks falling down a mountainside, said, “Aye, the grounders.”
Behind the old man, out of the slick tunnel’s depth, came a group of short and stocky warriors. Each one held a hammer, axe or pick in his mailed hands. They had short, thick beards and wore tough looking iron armor. They kept coming out of the tunnel, not slipping upon the slick tunnel surface at all, and surrounded the now grim faced old man.
“Half men!” Galen spat in disdain.
“No! They’re dwarves.” Squirrel sternly retorted.
“That’s right. We are dwarves.” The apparent leader of the angry looking cadre stepped forward. His beard was gray and longer than the others. His helmed head concealed his face but there was no mistaking the dire threat in his tone.
Shadow apparently decided at that tense moment that it would be a good time for him to disappear but as he stepped back into the growing darkness he was suddenly shoved from behind and hit the ground face first. Another dwarf placed one foot on the thief’s wiry back and grinned meaningfully at the other three men.
“No escapes today, humans.” The dwarf croaked.
The next few moments became a swirl of chaotic activity. Galen rushed the dwarf who had Shadow pinned down while Darkon took hold of Squirrel’s arm and pulled him toward the opposite side of the murky chamber. Shadow strained with all his might to push himself off of the ground. Not expecting the rushing warrior’s attack the dwarf was thrown aside. It proved a lucky turn for the stout dwarf since his sudden fall was all that saved him from Galen's blade. The sword’s tip whistled past the grounder’s head.
Shadow quickly stood and began running with Darkon and Squirrel toward the only exit. Galen hesitated to follow, instead turning on the dozen or more dwarves and making a show of standing in defense. Screaming at the top of his lungs and swinging his blade haphazardly to and fro, all the while he took careful steps backward. The dwarves obviously wanted to pursue the fleeter of foot humans but Galen’s stance left them confused. Their hesitation proved their undoing as Darkon reached the previously trapped doorway and called for the brave prince to run. Making one final thrust at the closing dwarves Galen did just that. Axes and hammers somersaulted through the spot he had been standing in and the dwarves took up the chase.
Shadow and Squirrel were prepared for the grounders and after Galen came running through the doorway they slammed the heavy table and a chair each against the now shut door. They left the pile and followed Darkon after Galen. Running on into the daylight they went directly into the tree line where they’d left their borrowed steeds. They could hear the dwarves cursing from the opening and Shadow warned of their coming with a shout.
As they reached the tree line it was Galen who exclaimed, “The horses are gone! What do we do now?”
The prince had been trained for combat nearly his entire life and did not relish the idea of retreating from anything. With no steeds to hurry their escape he clearly contemplated fighting the dwarves off. A sudden heaving shove sent Galen sprawling forward and he barely kept his footing. Darkon had read his stance and knew he was going to have to force his friend into continuing their retreat. To stay and fight would have been foolish. The now furious dwarves were steadily streaming toward them, cruel weapons in hand and screaming for human blood. Running was now the only option.
Run they did. They ran and ran until they no longer heard the grumbling curses and crashing bodies through the wild growth. In fact, the two warriors had run so determinedly, they failed to notice that Shadow and Squirrel were not running beside them. They slowed only when they realized the terrain they had been careening through was unfamiliar and not the land they had passed through to reach the hollow hill. They were going most likely away from Thelebes while their two new friends were heading toward it. This would not have occurred if the horses were where they had left them.
“Where did they go?” Darkon gaspingly cried.
“Don’t know! Someone stole the horses! Must have been the half men.” Galen replied as he came to a slow halt amid the trees.
The dwarves must have given up their chase for no sound of pursuit could be heard. Galen wanted to call out to Squirrel, in hopes of locating the mage and his sly comrade, but Darkon warned him against it.
“Those dwarves were too short to catch them with or without horses. They are as safe as we are.”
Galen laughed and said, “They’re probably halfway to Thelebes by now.”
Darkon smiled and nodded in agreement. After the humor of the moment passed though, they realized what that meant. Darkon had lost his bow in the hill and they both had lost their reward by their retreat. Galen smiled and announced that he had never given his still full pouch of gold back to Squirrel. As he reached to his belt he found he was wrong.
“It’s gone!” He exclaimed, holding a severed leather string in one hand.
Darkon looked surprised but that soon melted into understanding. “Shadow.” Was all he said but that was enough to throw Galen into a rage of fresh epitaphs.
His cursing and stomping rang out through the thinning forest and Darkon feared he would cause the dwarves to find them.
“Come now, my friend! We have been bested and tricked and even robbed but still we have our lives.”
Galen heard him but words alone would not cool his temper. “I’ll kill them, by Ares!” He angrily swore.
Darkon took on a serious demeanor and said, “Ares knows you could defeat both of them at once. I doubt honor would be done if you did.”
That calmed Galen for the moment and he turned his gaze to Darkon and asked, “So what do you suggest we do then?”
“What was the name of that place you were taking me to before we were sidetracked?”
“Havoctown. It’s called something else in the Slavic tongue but I cannot relate it to our tongue well. All that matters is that in that place there is constant havoc. Our feeble friends most likely would not have lasted long there anyhow.”
The matter was settled then. Darkon merely started walking south instead of east while the prince put his hands on his hips and watched him go.
“You’re going to just let them get away with what they’ve done?” Galen asked.
“Them? No, just Shadow. I doubt softhearted Squirrel still has any gold left. Besides,” Darkon called back without turning around. “Wasn’t there a reason you didn’t want to go back to Thelebes?”
Silence.
Without another complaint or curse Galen fell behind the grinning Darkon and started walking. Together they walked without further incidence, purposefully avoiding any of the villages they sighted on the horizon, onward to Havoctown.
Weeks later they arrived at the small village Galen renamed Havoctown. The name Havoc until that moment had seemed incredulous to Darkon. No more when he saw it for himself. The noise of the place was intimidating. So many people crowded the several stalls and shops the two had a hard time making their way to their destination. The houses had long ago deteriorated into deteriating sheds. Though families did actually live in them it was clear most of the residents spent their time outside in the shops and working the nearby crops. There was barely a discernible pattern to the town. It all seemed to be built on one long dirt road with the canvased stalls clustered in a circle near its center.
Tending the several animals, both visiting horses and native farm animals, were a small, chubby group of tiny folk. Believed to be half human and part fearie, these people were the most peaceful in the lands. Reaching up to only three and a half feet tall they were also the most gifted with animal and plant life. They were a great neighbor to have when crops were having problems or when the animals needed care. Still, in a place like this they were quite a surprise.
Passing what appeared to be the local tavern, calls rang out from the upper balcony from willing wenches. Handsome prince Galen, himself over six feet tall, lightly tan skinned with sandy brown hair and athletic build, already seemed to know them. A few of them waved and called to him in particular.
He waved in return and gave a wink and smile as he said to Darkon, “Many a fine wench, my friend, but not a one to bring home to mother.”
Darkon, already gaping at the sights and sounds was even more astonished at the gaudy, barely dressed women. This made Galen laugh even louder.
Soon they arrived at a small stone structure painted all over its surface with many strange symbols and religious depictions. Clearly this was the