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

wrong with you?” Kirstana yelled. “You could have killed him!”
She stood then and pointed in Darkon’s face even as his muscles spasmed and his face reflected a fearful anger. He almost did kill Treacor, he realized! For what? Insulting his friends or questioning their loyalty? That was when he realized how much he cared for his friends. They weren’t his people, no, but they had proven themselves trustworthy and capable many times over. He would not leave Genossia without them.
Slowly he looked away from the scolding priestess and walked toward the fallen ranger. He reached down, brushing by protective Sirsi’, and hoisted the cynical ranger to his feet.
Heartily he clapped the breathless man on the back and said, “Accept my apology, Treacor. I defend them as I would you or any of my true kin. You see, for some time they were all I had and all I trusted and I cannot allow anyone to question that. Take heart in knowing, all of you, that these friends of mine are a powerful and smart bunch. With them at our sides our success is assured!”
Even Treacor said nothing to that and Slaytor merely smiled. The confidence Darkon spoke with somehow instilled his brethren with an understanding they had earlier lacked and as he sat again by the fire and began telling the tale of he and his comrades they soon felt pride as well. They soon learned that the four outsiders were in spirit as Demonslayers themselves. Sirsi’ wept with joy. Unknowingly she realized Darkon had shown them all the way. His friends had been true adventurers long before he met them and they would remain so if he left their sides. Across the lands there must be more folk like them, folk who thought like Demonslayers yet knew not what a Demonslayer was. It was these folk who could rejuvenate a kingdom and would happily take up a worthy cause.
Sirsi’ stood up, tears of revelation in her eyes, and she echoed those thoughts with words and her brethren agreed. They then decided they would take a new path in returning to Slayaria. One that would take them across kingdoms and lands they had before now avoided. They would tell the tale’s of the Demonslayers across Europa and soon every commoner would be repeating those tales and over time they would reach the kindred adventurers that lived throughout the lands. Then, after a time, the bravest and wisest would seek the fabled city of Slayaria and the land called Brimstone that hid it. When they found it they would find the waiting last remnants of a people created to protect the mortal realm. They would admire it and wish to become a part of it and, perhaps, the Demonslayers would indeed be reborn.

^ ^ ^

Graton Griffon lord sat atop a parapet upon the easternmost wall of Mastalon. He looked toward the stars and talked as he had done many nights before. He talked not to himself or the stars as passing guards often suspected. He spoke to Merleptus. Graton had waited until things had settled down in Mastalon before using the mage’s keyword, “Scintillation.” When he did the mage was overjoyed at the now open channel of communication and he quickly took advantage of it.
The elven warrior mage and the human wizard had been discussing the prospect of working together in a joint venture. One that would benefit both the Griffon lord’s people in Ara’moor and the human’s constant search for new magical rituals, spells, and curiosities. They had both agreed that the Demonslayer people were gone and their ways would soon be forgotten and they agreed that there were still uses the Demonslayer mystical legacies could be put to.
For instance, Graton pondered the Demonslayer’s ability to hide their homeland’s location. They had been found in the end but only through treachery. His own people had been trying to hide from the teeming human population for some time without success. Centuries of constant exodus and resettling had led to a much less fey elven folk. Through the cruelties dealt to them they had acquired some very human traits, including paranoia. By discovering the Demonslayer secrets he could aid his kind in their most dire hour.
Merleptus was interested in Demonslayer lore for more selfish reasons. Disappointed at his apparent inability to utilize the Scepter of Fire he continued on in his quest to gather all of the world’s most powerful relics. To Graton, aiding one power hungry human to hide his people from the rest was a simple and easy decision. Knowing his friends would not understand, in particular Darkon, Graton did not tell them he was leaving. Instead he sent a message carrier to alert them and give them a letter of explanation that they would not receive until he was gone.
Besides, perhaps his friends would reach Slayaria soon after he did and they would reunite their company in the name of his cause, the cause of the elven people. They, at least, still had a chance of being saved and the prospect seemed much more likely than a whole race being somehow restored. Thus elven pragmatism won out over simple loyalty and Merleptus once again won himself a willing pawn.

^ ^ ^

“Son, you are still needed here!” King Mastalon angrily exclaimed. The king and his son sat alone, deep in the halls of the palace and argued just like old times.
“Father, please, you yet have many years left and Brie’shanna will make a fine regent when you travel.” The king nearly retorted but Galen continued too quickly. “She knows far more than I about politics and she has far more knowledge about the needs of the kingdom. My absence has distanced me from some of the people who still blame me for Satar’s infiltration.”
Galen did not mention that he felt those people might be right. How could anyone say what would have taken place if he had not left home years ago? The king’s face was bright red but words would not form in his mind. He could no longer argue his point for Galen was right. Brie had indeed grown into an intelligent, level headed woman, so much like her mother.
“Galen, I have missed you and I will miss you. I have always only wanted my son to stand at my side as I rule the lands of our ancestors.” The King admitted.
Galen’s face turned red. Not with anger or embarrassment, but with surprise. Never, since he had been six winters old, had he heard his gruff father exclaim his feelings to anyone but his wife, the queen.
Galen could only stand up, with tears in his eyes, and place a firm grip upon his father’s shoulder and say, “And I will miss you father, but I will return. I will return with new tales of glory for my father to be proud of. How could a king be proud of a son who never left home to become a man?”
Beard wet with tears, King Garrold stood and returned Galen’s shoulder clasp and said, “Go then, my son, make me proud!”
For a long moment the two strong, stubborn and prideful men stared fiercely into one another’s eyes. These two would come together again and be the family they were meant to be and nothing on Earth could possibly stop that.
When the queen heard Galen had departed once again she wept. She wept until the king whispered to her softly and cuddled her against him. She stopped weeping when she heard of her son’s promise to return and his dedication to making his family proud. She looked at the great king she loved so much and knew then that no son of this man would ever break such a promise.
Not far away Brie’shanna too battled with her emotions. How dare her brother leave now, there was so much he hadn’t told her! How dare he leave her alone, after all she’d been through? She was angry with Galen, but she understood nevertheless. Galen would not be satisfied until their father was full of pride for him. She looked on her finger at the ring Ralac had returned to her weeks ago. It had been created by Par-Than for her. She wanted to find her brother then, so the mage made it so she could call to Galen with her thoughts and relay a few words. She had been about to use it when Satar’s men found her in her room. It could only be used once thus she treasured the ring above all her mundane jewels. If the need arose again she would not hesitate to use it and for their family’s sake she hoped Galen’s friends would help him get home again. She suspected they would and unlike the rest of Genossia, she was not so sure these troubled times were over quite yet.

^ ^ ^

Ralac and Gemini sat alone at the Roasting Boar inn. Both men stared into the hearth flames and pondered their next move. Around them, a celebration was going on. Off duty guards, tired travelers, and happy locals all rejoiced over the burning of wicked Par-Than. It had been seen as a cleansing ceremony by most of them, one that signified the total downfall of Satar. As long as Par-Than lived they had felt insecure and vulnerable, no matter that the prince and his allies were returned and victorious. Now, they imbibed heavy tankards of mead and toasted the heroes, one and all. Ralac and Gemini were magically disguised so they would not be the focus of those hearty toasts. They came to the inn to privately discuss their fates.
“I am very intrigued with the prospect of going to the legendary lands of Brimstone to rediscover Slayaria.” Gemini said.
“I too am looking forward to the adventure that is sure to come, but I still must ask you. In following these others do we not forsake our own destiny or do we simply forestall it?” Ralac asked.
Gemini smiled. He was still impressed with the depth of thought this human assassin showed. The elf had never expected the question nor had he thought of it. To him, his destiny was to travel the land and discover all he could for the benefit of his own learning and secondly that of his people. Humans, he realized, had much less time to waste. Thus Ralac was more concerned with where his own true destiny lie, not with simple learning.
“I find that you are a capable and strong man, friend Ralac. I have no doubt that no matter where you find your feet