The Lost Eight, Duron Crejaro [best classic books of all time .TXT] 📗

joined up with them on the way to meet a guide recommended by the Danu breeder. They found him at a small house, the last one in the town. He was sitting in an old rocking chair on his porch. He was old; probably well into his sixties from his appearance. Wiry white hair, what was left of it anyways covered his head. Well-tanned wrinkled skin covered his entire body. He introduced himself as Jerrance, also known roundabouts as Old One-Eye, due to the patch covering one of his eyes.

 

Hastily they explained that they needed an experienced guide for travel into The Desolation. He agreed that he was probably the most experienced within a hundred miles. He inquired what they were traveling through that accursed place for. He was in disbelief as they informed him that they were not actually going through it, they were actually going to Dalsor. He laughed at first, assuming they were joking, no one went to Dalsor, the ruins of the ancient battleground for The War of Eight was somewhere even the most foolhardy traveling into The Desolation avoided. At first he almost downright refused, then reconsidered. Maybe it would be a large expedition worth large sums of money, but no, he was told when he asked how large a force he would be guiding. There was no force, just the four of them, plus a small orphan girl from Thyrinn. Old One-Eye laughed in their faces, “Surely you boys are putting me on. Did Garrette put you up to this?” He asked as he laughed, thinking this was some kind of joke.

 

“I assure you, we are quite serious.” Elris told him matter-of-factly. “We don’t know a Garrette and we are going. We need someone experienced in traveling through there to make sure we don’t fall afoul of any sand traps or other dangers.”

 

“What about all the creatures? I wouldn’t go to Dalsor without an army.”

 

“We have myself, a Knight of Kynny, a Cleric of Siladia and of course our dear friend Desoil here. We will be perfectly safe, Desoil himself is a one man army as it were.”

 

“While I’ve never met a Broslak before, but I’ve heard they’re tough. Yet I’ve seen what the inhabitants of The Desolation are like, and I’d say he’d be eaten alive.” He replied, gazing hard at the group with his one good eye.

 

“Desoil, would you give our friend here a demonstration?” Elris asked.

 

Creolis stepped to the side with a bemused smile. Desoil closed his eyes, tapping into the power of the Crown of Elia. With now practiced ease he felt his body slip into what he was calling his battle form. He grew large impaling antlers this time, his signature leathery wings, settled on a double spiked tail and for One-Eye’s benefit settled on blades nearly as long as broadswords on each of his fingers. All this while he grew in size to over seven feet, causing him to look much like a hulking metallic wall of death. Dearn quivered slightly as he watched the transformation, not having seen it before himself, but it was more than that. He felt the pulsing power of the crown emanating forth from it. It touched his skin, crawled along it like something alive. Tantalizing it was, whispering dreams of unimaginable power to him. He almost swooned from the sensation, but it faded quickly as the transformation ended. To his credit One-Eye seemed impressed and after much haggling finally agreed to guide them, though his price might have been considered extortion by others.

 

Across the small town, Kaelina soaked in a hot bath Maria had drawn for her. They chatted together as Maria scrubbed her clean, using a homemade tallow soap to wash the matted mass. She closed her eyes as she dipped her head into the warm soothing water, which was when she felt it. A rush starting in her toes almost like a tingling sensation. It moved swiftly up her body like electricity, and then it was simply gone. She shrugged it off as she exited the tub and dried herself; she donned a simple sleeping gown Maria had laying about. She then sat patiently as Maria produced a long ivory-toothed comb and began the painstaking process of removing the tangles from her hair. Kaelina took it as well as she could, only occasionally grunting in displeasure when the comb would snag painfully. All told, she had finally finished as the four were returning for an evening meal from their tasks that day. Creolis found himself at a loss for words as they entered; Kaelina milled about the room, helping Maria set the table. Her matted mess of hair now flowed gracefully down her back, smooth porcelain skin, now clean and he noticed marked here and there with small freckles. She smiled at them, those soft pale green eyes dancing behind her thick lashes. They all sat to relax for a hot meal, for once in his life Creolis barely seemed to eat.

Chapter 15: Old One-Eye

Danu, what disgusting creatures Creolis thought to himself as he sat astride one. Large hulking beasts of burden nearly three times the size of a horse. Shaggy things with short blunt snouts specifically bred to endure the harsh heat and dryness of The Desolation. The thing that bothered him the most though, was the awful smell. Kaelina laughed at his complaints, rubbing her Danu’s head affectionately. She thought they were cute, Two days so far. At least as far as Creolis could tell it had only been two days. With the way time was bleeding in on itself, it could have been weeks. The Desolation was just that, a flowing endless sea of sand as far as he could see. It not only seemed a cursed place, it felt like it in a way that Creolis could not quite explain. Everyone it seemed had noticed it, as soon as they had crossed into the outer edges. It was like passing through, as invisible barrier that told life it was not allowed to exist. He just was not quite sure. Up till this point, their trip had been uneventful, no rapacious monsters or crazed creatures attacking them, just the endless sandy dunes of The Desolation. Mostly it had just been them listening to Old One-Eye drone on and on about stories from what he called, his glory days; a proclamation that amused the companions.

 

Bounty runs he called them, during his youth when he was a braver man, current situation excluded of course. Down on their luck men or just those seeking the excitement and danger had come from all over Mris to the small trading post of Bemo. He had grown up listening to the stories of crazed monsters and heroic journeys into The Desolation. So, as soon as he had become old enough, he had joined up with the first group he could making the perilous trip to hunt creatures, worth a small fortune in bounty by the Thyrinn government. Hundreds he had been on by his reckoning, each more daring than the last. He was all joyous talk and heroism as he recalled his old tales, and then grew somber.

 

He had of course gotten his nickname on one of these adventures. A party of almost thirty had left Bemo on that fateful trip. Several days into their patrols, they had already racked up nearly two-dozen heads without so much as a single injured man to boot. They were relaxing one evening after a successful day of hunting. That is when it happened; a small pack of Sand Terrors came upon them. Oh this was not what they were really called, it was just what the hunters and other locals and traders called them. Giant sand burrowing worms with many tentacle-like appendages about their long bodies. They could grow to enormous sizes and were notoriously hard to kill. Almost the entire expedition had been wiped out that night, only three men having had survived. He had lost sight in one of his eyes that night, though he had sustained no real injury to it that he could tell. He always claimed that it was the horrors of that night that had turned his eye milky. “After that of course, I couldn’t really be a hunter anymore. So, I hung up my weapons and took to being a guide. Mostly the work is slow, not many cross The Desolation. Back in my younger years it was mostly traders, bring back loads of the prized red granite from where The Desolation touched the Qemara Mountains. Nowadays though, most of that trade is done through the shipping lanes.”

 

“Well that’s quite a life you’ve lived.” Dearn commented as the story finished, the others adding in nods of agreement, except for Elris. “You know if you’d like. I can try my hand at healing it. Siladia is known to be most kind.”

 

Old One-Eye smiled fondly at him, touched with just a bit of sadness, “Alas lad, I don’t think that’s in the cards for me. Several followers of Siladia have been through Bemo over these long years, all have offered and none have been able to cure it. An affliction of the vileness of The Desolation they say it is.”

 

Dearn pondered this for a moment confused, before Elris chimed in to enlighten him. “They say that this place is cursed, nothing grows, it never rains, and even the power of the gods and goddess don’t work the same way here. As if the land itself refuses to allow any magic’s to work as they should, after the devastation that was done to it. The various priesthoods and even the Adrari have tales of their powers working oddly, if at all, within this place.” He winked at Dearn, “Of course they didn’t have part of the power that cursed the land with them either.” A whisper, meant only for Dearn’s benefit.

 

“Still sir, you’ve agreed to guide us through here at not little risk to yourself. I would like to at least have a try at it. If it is as you say and I fail, then you will be no worse for the wear.” Dearn spoke boldly, quite sure of himself.

 

He sighed a little in response but did not further protest. Dearn urged his Danu closer to him, bringing it in stride with him. Quietly he raised a hand, letting it hover near the patch covering the man’s eye. Whispering aloud but inaudible, he sent a prayer to Siladia, asking for her divine favor in returning what the man had lost. That his help was needed for their mission and that he should bear witness to events that might shape the world. Dearn finished his prayer and waited. Nothing happened after a few moments and the old man smiled at him, “Don’t worry lad, I give thanks for the attempt but.”

 

The man’s words never reached Dearn’s ears. He was still looking at him, but it simply appeared he had just stopped without explanation. He felt warmth on his finger, the ring he wore in dedication to Siladia flared with an inner heat. The tingling of it traveled throughout his body, but was not hot. In fact, the oppressive heat of The Desolation was gone as well. The