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

them to cast their truth magic on him. Surrounded as he was he really had little choice. Pulling they’re hoods down the four mages revealed themselves to him, three of them seemed like normal human men but the fourth was not a man at all. She wore her black hair in one long braid and her face was pleasant but not beautiful. Her one outstanding feature was her slightly pointed ears. He assumed she must have some elven blood in her veins. Together the four royal mages began a spell. They joined hands and closed their eyes while each recited there own specific chant. Ralac could not tell whether they each had a part in the casting or if each was casting they’re own version of the same spell. After having spent some time with Gemini the ever observant assassin had learned much more about spell casters than his cruel teachers had ever taught him.
Eventually one of the males opened his eyes and looked Ralac directly in the eye. “Speak your name and give again your reason for being here in Mastalon.”
Ralac did and the man once again closed his eyes and after three breaths the four seemed to shake out of the spell and smile.
“He speaks the truth.”
The gathered folk, even the two men watching the door and the street outside, cheered. They had been getting truly frustrated with their situation and wondered if any light would ever come from the growing darkness. He asked for the highest ranking members of the guard present and also those who were the most closely tied to the people and their opinions. Not surprisingly the guard who stepped forth was the same one who had almost pummeled Ralac and he was still scowling even through the recent revelations. The closest thing the folk could muster to a popular local was a very heavy, homely woman named Meilenan. Meilenan claimed to know every important person in the city since they all visited her many times during the week. She was the city’s foremost baker and her pleasant demeanor and concern for others made her a friend to everyone. If anyone could muster the people it was she.
So, Ralac and Meilenan and the ever scowling Jander discussed the possible methods of freeing Mastalon and her rulers long after noon. When a hungry group of mercenAres showed up at the inn the crowd acted nonchalant as if they were huddled around a pair of dice players. Luckily the new guard mostly consisted of idiots and drunkards. Quietly Ralac and his two new friends agreed they would continue when Galen returned and established a place from which to command the coming rebellion.
When everyone finished their meals and ales they slowly left the Roasting Boar in ten minute intervals so as not to alarm any wary guards or servants loyal to Satar. They had obviously done this before so Ralac did not interfere. Instead he merely had a quick meal of roasted pig and sweetbread with thick, spicy brown gravy and then left the inn through the backdoor.

^ ^ ^

Galen took the lead as the group moved through the city’s sewers. Darkon kept to the rear and caused the mindflow to move outward before him, hoping to sense any hidden minds they might otherwise pass by. Several hours moved swiftly and night fell before they reached the palace sewers. An iron grate covered the tunnel mouth there and Galen nodded in satisfaction. He knew now that Satar had not been bothering to search the sewers at all, for no grates had been removed from their places. They then turned back the way they had come and soon came to a ladder, slick with animal fat, which led upward to what appeared to be a wooden trap door. Galen left his three companions behind and climbed the stone carved ladder. Carefully the prince made his way upward and after ten minutes time he reached the trap door. He then took the hilt of a dagger and tapped a one, three, four cadence several times before he finally got an answer. The answer came in a two, five cadence and after Galen replied again with his cadence the heavy door was then lifted open.
Torchlight streamed into the black opening and hushed voices exclaiming surprise at the prince’s return filled the sewer tunnel ways. Galen took a massive hand in his and was lifted straight up into a bear hug from his father’s loyal captain of the guard, Bele’. Bele’ was a huge man, not so tall yet as big around as a bull. He wore a wild mane of graying hair and a full black beard. Face red with joy the captain lifted Galen off his feet and shook him with glee. The prince’s face soon turned purple and Bele’s wife had to pry his arms from around Galen’s waist. When he finally caught his breath Galen explained to the boisterous captain how he had heard of his family’s plight and how he and his allies had returned to make things right again in Genossia.
When Galen explained about his allies and Bele’ nodded his understanding the prince motioned for his friends to follow him up the ladder. One by one they entered the large cellar and were introduced to Bele’ and his plump yet lovely wife, Semera. Both were astounded at the sight of elves and were also impressed with the grim warrior with the peculiar scar upon his brow. Each man was greeted by a bear hug from Bele’ and a consoling pat from his apologetic wife. After the introductions were over the big captain led them up a stairway into what Bele’ laughingly called his war room.
“Ever since that poniard Satar took over the true royal guard and the armies have been disbanded. He’s been gathering outlanders and our own dregs to people his armies and most of the guard. Yet there is a two hundred man force he used to take the castle and man it as his personal guard.” Bele’ explained.
“Two hundred men to take an entire palace?” Asked Darkon.
“Through Magic and treachery they had the entire royal family under their custody and lest they be slain they commanded the disbanding of their forces. Several brave men have died trying to reach them but none can get past Satar’s servants. I have spoken on one occasion with the traitor mage, Par-Than, and he said all the men were slain by the demons that guard the royal family.”
Huffing heavily from the breathless explanation the captain wiped his sweaty brow with a stained sleeve and took a mighty draw from the great tankard of mead his wife handed to him. Semera then handed each of the guests a simple iron flask with the king’s sigil upon them, full of pleasant ale. Darkon ignored his own flask as he felt a familiar eagerness travel throughout his spine and outward through every limb. The prospect of battling demons now held a brighter aspect for the Demonslayer and Darkon looked forward to raising the creatures’ heads on pikes in the final victory.
That, at least, was what Darkon's instincts screamed to him. He himself had never had the opportunity to raise a demon head as a trophy but he knew it had been a ritual observed by the warriors of his people. Shrunken demon heads even adorned priestly ceremonial headdresses or were used by mages to aid in spell casting. If there were demons involved here Darkon would not rest until they were slain or banished. He could not rest until he avenged his Sevele, and that by the gods could take a lot of demon killing.
An hour passed and then another as Bele’ and Galen discussed the specifics of the enemy occupation. Darkon tried to pay attention to all the details but sleep still overtook him. Galen noticed this but allowed the Demonslayer his rest for throughout their journey to Mastalon he hadn’t truly slept well at all. Darkon's grief, as well as Galen's, had become a burden, a burden that wore Darkon down more than any journey could. Galen however utilized the grief he felt at the loss of his friends Sevele and Rena to feed his burning rage and need for vengeance. Another hour passed.
A loud knock at the captain’s door awoke Darkon and with a start he leapt to his feet, expecting an attacking foe. Graton was near him and motioned for him to keep quiet and pointed towards the steps that would lead them back to the cellar and Mastalon’s sewers. Darkon hesitated only for a moment and headed down the stairs when another knock shook the shelving’s that hung by Bele’s front door. Upon which rested several awards for achievement and longevity given to Bele’ from the King and other high ranking nobles within Mastalon.
Everyone then heard Bele’ yell angrily, “I’m coming gods take you, I’m coming.”
They hurried down through the trap door as they heard Bele’ open his door and ask, “What’s the meaning of this?”
“Bele’, we have been informed you harbor dangerous fugitives, let us in or we’ll let ourselves in!” A harsh voice demanded.
They did not hear the big captain’s reply but did hear the stomping of boots upon the hardwood floor as the trap door closed and locked from the sewer tunnel side. For a short while they listened, Galen most intently, as the soldiers tore the kind hearted captain’s home apart. They heard Semera crying and Bele’ complaining but it was obvious the couple would not be harmed. Assured of their safety Galen led them all away from the area through twisting, turning tunnels that had no beginning and no end. Here and there a grate to the street would appear where guards stood watch, obviously on the lookout for anyone who might come out of the sewers. The four men knew though they had little to fear from Satar’s new regiment, for most of the guards they had seen seemed barely able to wield their borrowed swords.
Gemini noticed first what appeared to be a duel between two guards who must surely be in a severe drunken state. The elven mage chuckled though as he realized the two men were not drunk and only were trying to practice their swordsmanship, if it could have been called that. They were barely capable of lifting the swords let alone swing them to effect.
Gemini shook his head solemnly as Galen nodded. He then made a half circle with his ring finger and whispered, “Hisss’ Ath!”
Instantly the swords the guards wrestled with burst into flames, searing the tender grips of their bearers. The men screamed in utter terror and abandoned their weapons and their posts, screaming pledges to nameless gods if their lives should be spared. Galen enjoyed the spectacle and appreciated Gemini’s timing for this was a good place to exit the underworld and enter the city above. It was late but not yet midnight and only a handful of torches lit the streets.
Gemini cast an uncomplicated illusion that changed the appearance of himself and Graton while the Griffon lord merely enspelled the garb of Darkon and Galen. The elves looked like two swarthy desert nomads swathed in pilafs that enwrapped every inch of their bodies until they were as black as night in the darkness.
Galen suddenly looked like what the guards of Mastalon