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

your destiny will be right before you.” Offered Gemini.
Ralac nodded his head slowly in understanding and said, “Besides, what home have I? Is not the road my haven, the night my hearth? Wherever my feet lead me then, and not to mention the kindly, ever intriguing Sirsi’.”
Gemini smiled wide this time. Ralac had shown an immediate fondness for the young priestess. He understood why of course. It had been obvious by her strength of mind and body that she was worthy of respect. Yet, it may have been her mothering demeanor that attracted the assassin most of all. Of course Ralac would never understand that for he surely only somewhat recalled his own mother. For that reason alone Gemini could not say anything to the one eyed mischief maker that would sway his opinion. All men loved their mother and those who knew them not would love any woman who resembled in their mind’s what they lacked as a youth. Sirsi’s strong features and full figure were yet another part of the enticement, the only part Ralac would admit to.
Indeed, these two men would follow the Demonslayers, but in truth they were following their hearts.

^ ^ ^

Far north of Genossia traveled the rest of the Demonslayers and their mentors, Krosten and Cann-Dar. For the most part the group kept their distance from any strangers or towns they passed along the way. It was as they entered the dark forest of pines and black oak in the land called Germania when a brown winged falcon hopped from a tree limb and onto Krosten’s shoulder. Though everyone else was surprised he seemed to have expected it. After several moments of exchanging chirps, screeches and calls, the high priest finally smiled and turned to his charges who had been looking on in wonderment.
“Kirstana and the others have found Darkon. They’ll be heading north to join us.” He said.
The mute, Rax, clapped to express his joy and the others began to pepper Krosten with questions.
Calmly, he continued, “I have very little details except this...” He waited a moment for quiet to return. “Darkon and his friends, whomever they may be, have become heroes in Genossia. Sirsi’ tells me they have realized how to bring about the return of our lost people and it involves not avoiding every village and every stranger as I have instructed. Instead it involves crossing every path to every town or country and spreading the tales of the Demonslayers. Through inspiring adventurous souls with heroic tales and deeds they believe we may lure those souls to Slayaria where they can be brought into the fold.”
The looks on his charges’ faces told him they believed as well. Krosten believed but he had his doubts. If they were to spread word of their people now the danger of being attacked or hunted again would grow tenfold. Worse yet, if this group began to follow suit now Sirsi’ and the others could walk into the waiting arms of some dark servant. He knew he must hold back his party’s efforts until the others could rejoin them. Until then they would have to establish a temporary home of some sort. In the wild forest they traveled through now they could hide for the next several weeks but they would need supplies from somewhere eventually.
Thus Krosten turned the group back, toward the last lonely wilderness village they had seen. There he purchased a small cabin that had been vacant for some time. The man he bought it from was Heltenar the innkeeper. Heltenar was the local facsimile of a lord and he claimed ownership of any of the homes that were vacated or any goods that someone might leave behind. He admitted that any folk that came here to live usually left before a year passed and often left behind their untransportable property. The village had been unceremoniously named Heltenar due to the innkeeper’s self-appointed position as leader and caretaker.
Once the young Demonslayer’s were settled and they each finished their specific tasks or errands about the tiny, eight building, village, Krosten spoke to them again.
“All of you must heed this old priest’s words and heed them well. While all of you remain here awaiting our brethren I must continue on to Slayaria. Cann-Dar and Slaytor both know the way and they will advise you during my absence.”
Immediately the protests arose. Every one of the young slayers cared deeply for Krosten and none of them realized the man’s true power. The questions like, “Who will watch your back?” and, “Who will take care of you?”, made the old man smile. He knew they loved him as he did them but they were foolish to think he could not care for himself. They were also wrong in thinking the priest did not sense their own fear of his departing. He had guided them this far and without him they worried they might be lost.
“I will be fine, my children. Cann-Dar?” Krosten looked to the elf and raised both arms to either side as if preparing to take flight with his all enveloping robes. The serene looking elf answered with a few elven syllables and gestures, casting a spell on the priest.
For a moment nothing occurred and Krosten grinned wide and said, “I’ll be seeing you all and then to our destinies we will go!”
Suddenly Krosten’s form shrank and reconstructed itself and there was a gray hawk where he’d been standing. After one piercing call the bird of prey took flight and lifted itself above the tall pines and disappeared from sight. Beside it the brown falcon quickly caught up and the two said their final goodbye with an air shredding screech. The gathered children of a lost people stood watching the sky for some time. None of them felt comfortable in these woods although uncle Cann-Dar was still with them.
Kirstana’s sister, Clarrissa, looked to the elf and said, “Will we ever see him again?”
The elven mage expected the question and answered with calm confidence. “Of course! He will return with vital information about Slayaria.”
Clarrissa’s full, red lips pouted, accentuated by her long, shining black hair and parchment pale skin. Tall for a woman she reached six feet in height and her long lean legs were a match for any Cann-Dar had ever seen. In his centuries of life, of course, he had seen plenty.
“Dear Clarrissa,” He said. “Fear not. In about three months when winter is nearly here your sister will return and share her tales. You won’t have missed anything she can’t fill you in on.” The elf had not forgotten the sibling rivalry between the sisters and he knew Clarrissa was envious of Kirstana’s journey south.
Unlike Kirstana, Clarrissa was a mage. She had automatically chosen an opposite profession from her sister even though separate families had fostered them. Cann-Dar smiled as he thought of Krosten’s telling of how the two reacted when they were reunited. Kirstana would not acknowledge she had a sister, although Krosten returned to her fully her memory, and Clarrissa had attempted to rip Kirstana’s hair out claiming she was some demonic imposter and that Krosten should dispose of her at once!
Behind Cann-Dar stood Dharmone’, who had been listening attentively to his every word. The tall, strong, righteous young warrior of Halren had little patience for waiting but he normally followed his mentor’s instruction.
Clearing his throat to announce his presence he said, “Cann-Dar, exactly what are we supposed to do for three months in this forsaken place?”
Cann-Dar stopped smiling then and looked back to where Krosten had flown from sight. Every single young slayer awaited his answer with baited breath and he felt sorry that he had only one simple answer. “We will do as the Demonslayers have always done, my young friend’s. We will survive.”
Seeing they were not going to get a better reply the five eager Demonslayers turned toward the cabin that was to be their temporary home. Noting the age and stage of development of the young ones Cann-Dar decided that it might be best if he procured another of the empty cabins. Humans, he knew, were often prone to boredom and throughout history boredom among their kind had led to foolish decisions. The race needed to grow but pregnant women would only be a hindrance at present. Positive Krosten would agree with him Cann-Dar called after the dejected group and told them who would be staying where and who would be staying in the same cabin. Inwardly Cann-Dar hoped Krosten would not be to long, watching over near grown Slayarians did not promise to be an easy task.


CHAPTER 27
SEEDS OF THE ABYSS


“He is my least favorite manifestation, Anghar.”
“Unfortunately, my friend, my brother, he is the most pivotal to our cause and is one who is necessary for the Demonslayer’s survival.” Anghar calmly retorted.
“Ironic is it not?” Asked Throngaer, thunder clapping at his every word.
“Indeed. One of the single most important aspects of the Demonslayers is a veritable demon in itself.”
Together the gods stood upon a windy mountaintop somewhere in the Abyss. They looked not at the sky or abyssal horizon but at the cave mouth that lie just below the mountain peak. The wind blew gusts of rain while lightning lit the sky, all telling that this mountain must lie within the domain of the storm god. Unshaken by the torrent, Anghar’s form grew larger and larger as the rain quickly froze around him and added to his garments of ice and armor. Beside him Throngaer stood even taller. His golden armor mirrored each lightning strike like water across a window pane. His long white hair writhed from beneath his one horned helm as if of a mind of its own. His blue eyes were hurricanes not yet born and his grimace seemed to threaten of doom.
The manifestation they spoke of was one of the several that represented a specific emotional state. Though every one was a servant to Throngaer, not always did they do as they were commanded. That was the reason this one had been imprisoned soon after the fall of Slayaria. A few more moments passed until a pair of eyes reflecting the lightning appeared in the darkness of the cave opening. Neither god reacted in any way, instead they only looked on as a voice strained to be heard above the frightening din.
“A hundred years has passed quickly, master.” It said.
“Far less than that has gone by, cursed one. Come now, crawl out of your prison so you may receive the latest of my commands.” Throngaer stood tall, golden armor dancing with electricity. His one horned helm, encircled by a miniature thundercloud, added to his already awe inspiring visage.
A dark shape slowly began to creep from the cave depths, all the while kowtowing and groveling toward the awesome storm god and his equally frightening brethren god. The creature was gaunt and wretched. Its gleaming ebony skin had sunken in many places where muscle must have once been. His head was crested by a set of oxen horns and rags adorned what was left of his body. Human in most of its features its fingers and toes