The Slayarians - Book One, JM Barnes [best books for 7th graders txt] 📗

hair hung well below shoulder length and was thick and black as a midnight sky. His eyes were icy blue and betrayed no emotion. His youth was obvious but his thick muscular frame suggested more experience in either labor or fighting than any normal lad his age.
Through much complaint from the doting women the young man soon donned his armor and prepared to leave. It was not an easy thing to do since one of the six women seemed to be more than simply concerned for him.
Refiette had long black, silky hair and big brown eyes so dark they were nearly black as well. She wore a frilled dress that covered almost her entire shapely figure but for the revealed cleavage he struggled to ignore. The way her lips pouted when she smiled at him made his heart flutter and his blood boil and she seemed to take pleasure in that. Perhaps it was even in her plan. Though the young man felt certain that at any other time he might have relished the attention he felt uncomfortable surrounded by strangers who treated him with such kindness. The danger of ignoring who he once was and entering a life of bliss beside the young woman who yearningly stared at him was a looming threat he somehow knew he must avoid.
“Lady, if you could tell me your name so that in my journey I might keep your name on my lips, I would be forever in your debt.” The young man said.
All of the women hooted and giggled at that but the girl only coyly replied, “My name, sir, is Refiette. If you please, what is your name?”
His heart stopped its fluttering then, as did the noise that had been filling his ears. He could not remember his name, not even for this breathtaking vision.
“I am sorry. I think that which brought me low has also stolen my memory, for I cannot recall my name nor why I am here in this place.”
Refiette’s eyes filled with sadness. “You are in the town of Selonia in the land of Pannononia. No one knows you here and my father said he saw you in the morning just passing through.”
A revelation was a revelation and the girl had given him more information than he had.
“I thank you, and I thank all of you for your charity. I would love to stay a while and get to know each of you but I must find someone who can help me.”
None of the ladies objected but they each embraced him as he headed for the open door, kind Niryni last. Refiette gave more than an embrace though. She planted such a kiss upon him that he thought surely afterwards he would remember who he was. Sadly, that was not the result.
As the young man stepped from the house and walked onto the dirt road he was greeted by two smiling men he did not recognize, even as they stared him down. They’re piecemeal armor was painted in what seemed to be blood and their long greasy hair was ended in tiny carved skull totems.
“There you are, lad!” The taller of the two exclaimed. The men hurried forward and embraced him roughly. They kept him moving as they patted him on the back.
“We were worried sick over you!” The shorter one said with a grin. The young man felt a sick feeling in his belly. They spoke as if they were friends but their eyes said otherwise.
Once nearer the town’s center they pushed him roughly into an alley. Twilight had drawn near and shadows enveloped the smelly place but the young man had only scant seconds to consider this before he was shoved against the wall.
“Prepare yourself Demonslayer!” One proclaimed. “My brother and I have been stuck in this place for too long in hopes of running into one of you’re kind! Now that we have you your death will be our reward!”
Nose to nose and face to face the two men fought an inner war. Hate for hate they dueled with the favored weapon of every man, ego. The evil man steeled his will for what he hoped would be his last killing of a Demonslayer. He had been left in Selonia by his cult shamans to act as a lookout for any signs of remaining Slayarians. He yearned to be free of the place.
The young and stubborn man did not know his own name but he was sure he would never allow his own death to pass so easily. The smelly barbarian drew his curved blade and held it menacingly before the young man’s face, but just as the end seemed inevitable, a sudden impossibility occurred.
A dagger point appeared at the barbarian’s throat, right from his larynx. The barbarian’s eyes opened wide as blood erupted from the throat wound spraying the confused young man before him. He attempted to scream out but only a muted gurgle came forth. Then he fell backwards, dead before he hit the ground. The clang of metal on steel broke the stunned moment and the amnesia stricken youth looked on to see his savior battling hard against the second barbarian. He was just as surprised to see that his savior was no veteran warrior or some guard on patrol. The man was more than likely the same age as he was and judging by his polished armor and foreign garb he was surely a stranger to Selonia .
Watching as the two men exchanged parries it was clear to him that his savior was more skilled with the sword than the barbarian but he was outweighed and not as strong as the savage. Seeing aid may be required he screamed as loud as he could and charged the fray, distracting the evil looking attacker just enough to allow the hero to plunge his blade into his gut. Watching as his attacker fell to his knees and died, the young man felt a strange satisfaction he could not explain. Then he suddenly recalled an important piece of his identity, his name. He heard it in his mind from a voice he knew he should have recognized but somehow could not.
His name was Darkon.
Overjoyed at this recollection Darkon held his arm out to the warrior who had saved his life and said, “I am Darkon and I am in your debt!”
Appearing uncertain why he’d risked his life like he had the young savior held forth his hand to make a warrior’s clasp of victory. “I am Prince Galen, of Genossia” The prince was slightly taller than he with short brown hair and green eyes. He was slimmer and moved with more agility but had none of the thick musculature Darkon bore.
Bewildered that a prince would be the one to aid him Darkon found no words except, “Thanks be to you, good prince!”
“Darkon, why did you seem so confused by these men when they seemed so sure of who you were?” The prince openly asked.
Darkon explained to the prince what little he did recall then Galen said, “I have heard my father talk of such injuries among his army on occasion. Now I understand your lack of words as that lout was about to slay you.”
“Yes, it was when that man called me a Demonslayer that images began to appear in my mind and my name soon surfaced from the sights in my pounding skull.” Smacking the sides of his head Darkon growled in frustration. Ever since he had stepped foot out of Niryni’s home images and sounds had been flashing through his thoughts but there was nothing he could put together enough for words. He was disoriented and felt astrong urge to lay down and sleep.
“Fear not. For I’ve been told such injuries can be temporary and judging by the speed at which you’ve recovered you’re name I’d say it has already begun. Have you seen a healer?” He asked. “I know of a true servant of the gods. A priest whose healing ability is miraculous and best of all no sacrifices must be made, only payment in coins. Of which I have plenty.”
At this Darkon seemed to balk. “You would do this for me? Why?”
Galen shrugged his shoulders. “I am a prince of a small kingdom far to the west and south of here. I’ve been traveling on my own for some time now seeking adventure. I go wherever it leads me and as far as I can tell it has led me to you.” Galen grinned and ran a hand through his hair. “Anyway, you’re as alone as I am and a companion on the road to recovery is no small thing.”
Darkon was in fact overjoyed that he had met the prince and wondered if some deity had intended for them to meet that day. Galen had not considered the possibility. All he understood was the uncanny feeling that if he left Darkon’s side he might miss out on a path that could lead to his destiny. There was no course as far as he could see other than to walk beside the confused warrior and walk they did as Galen described the land around the town he’d nicknamed Havoctown. It sat north of Macedonia and at the midpoint between the Black sea and the Mediterranean. The journey would undoubtedly take some time.

^ ^ ^

After spending several days together traveling Darkon and Galen became fast friends, although their differences soon became apparent. As different as they were, neither man had a single complaint about the other. They respected each other and their opinions and each young man quickly came to think he needed to hear the other’s view before committing to a decision. In that way they acted as a balance for one another. Galen’s tendency to jump into things was calmed by Darkon’s need to explore every angle of a situation beforehand. Darkon’s habit of overanalyzing until every situation seemed too dangerous or impractical was diluted by Galen’s rabid enthusiasm.
The first true test of their new friendship came to them as they traveled southeast toward Havoctown and the Black Sea that lay far beyond it. There they had become sidetracked in a tiny village called Thelebes.
The village had been settled by enemies of the declining Greek and growing Roman empires. They were a people cast out of their homes because of their unwanted opinions on slavery and wrongful imprisonment. To avoid facing those things themselves they’d been forced to flee. In Thelebes they built a haven for those who shared their views. Near the borders of both those nations and Mesopotamia, they were safe from all of the forces that desired their destruction. None of the kingdoms could mount an army so close to the other’s border without rekindling old wars that had never truly ended. Those in Thelebes were safe until the three nations could agree.
Galen and Darkon spoke only Latin and Gaelic and the inhabitants of the tiny haven regarded them with curiosity because of their heavy accents. It was a relief then when they met a pair of young men who were much like them in that they were a long way from home.
The light skinned, robe enshrouded northerner introduced himself as simply, Squirrel, and his swarthy companion he referred to as, Shadow. Both men claimed to be adventurers and far from home. Squirrel was pale and thin, or as Galen called him, feeble. His